


If This Isn't Love

by Erinaco



Category: Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Charles is a Tease, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, M/M, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinaco/pseuds/Erinaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is a young hatter with clear future he sees befor him before he encounters a mysterious and powerful wizard named Erik on his way to visit his younger brother Alex. That same day, the Warlock of the Waste visits the hat shop and curses Charles, transforming him into an old man. Seeking a cure for the transformation spell, Charles travels into the Wastes, where the Moving Castle is known to wander.</p><p>[A Ghibli's <i> Howl's Moving Castle </i> AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strolling Through the Sky

The mist was thick and gray, heavy in the early morning. Chilly haze seeped slightly above the ground, dew sinking on the dark grass.

The scenery would be deserted and calm, if not for the strange feeling of something moving from afar. A huge bulky shadow loomed behind the bluish veil; it was hard to descry its exact outlines, only the blurred shape exuded, advancing in a threatening mass. Variety of strangely-shaped spikes, piling up hemispheres and domes, intricate tracery of roofs with loopholes and turrets. Dark shadows formed the vague lines of deep pits remotely resembling eyes and a monstrous mouth moving constantly, chewing on something, accompanied by rasp and gritting of rusty metal.

The morning grew steadily warmer, and the mist cleared, flowing over the wasteland in burly clouds tattered on the edges.

A small neat hut on the slope of the hill came into view, with flock of sheep grazing wet grass; white lumps on bright green. The bulky shadow with towers and spikes loomed over it in several tiers, above the low clouds, covering the sky. It traveled unhurriedly, floating in the last vapors of fog, shifting its huge mass over a small town in the valley at the foot of snow-capped mountains.

…Train whistle sharply broke through the lazy dizziness.

Charles shuddered and lifted his head. His eyes hurt from meticulous all-night work on an especially tricky hat that took away the four hours of sleep he allowed himself per day. If not only it was so urgent, he would definitely get at least an hour to nap, and he most definitely wouldn’t be daydreaming of something as strange as towers floating above the clouds.

Where could that even come from, he wondered.

He rubbed his eyes with his palms until they burned and stared into the small window. The train passing by right beneath his window tossed out a black smothery column of smoke, obscuring the view on the wasteland unfolding up the hill and flowing into the mountains he just dreamt about.

Charles’s high stool rattled lightly beneath him until the train was gone and the black smoke scattered before the window. He sighed and glanced at the bright-red bonnet, half-done at his desktop. It was still necessary to think of something to decorate it as the client desired, something with ‘flowers, and maybe berries.’ He plucked several felt buds out of the variegated pile and tried them on the bonnet hesitantly.

The knock on the door diverted him from his musing.

“Charles, are you ready?”

Moira, his senior assistant was standing at the doorstep, watching him with worried eyes.

“Ready for what?”

“Oh dear, have you forgotten? The troops are marching through the town today, there’s a parade on the high street. I’ve already dismissed the girls.”

Charles furrowed his brow in confusion.

“A parade?”

“Charles,” Moira sighed wearily. “Sometimes I think you don’t even know there’s war outside your hat shop. You’re not eighty, you know? You have to have a good time occasionally.”

He gave her a little smile that didn’t really reach his eyes.

“Then who are you going to scold?”

Moira shook her head, tossing a random glance out the window, and froze in surprise.

“Isn’t that the Moving Castle?”

“What?”

“The Moving Castle, look how close it is! It means _he_ is also in town. You know. That warlock all girls talk about. They say, he’s stealing hearts of all women who look at him, sometimes literally,” she chuckled and narrowed her eyes mischievously. “They also say he’s a real looker.”

Charles shrugged. He did not particularly care for magic or warlocks of any kind, whether they were stealing hearts or not.

Moira looked back at him and pursed her lips.

“Oh well, I’m going off, and I suggest you come along. I could wait for you, if you wanted?”

“No, thank you, this one is urgent,” Charles lifted the bonnet in his hand and thought for a moment before remembering. “Don’t worry, I’m going out to visit Alex today.”

“I can’t believe it, finally! He would be happy to see you at long last. Say hello from me, then?” Moira gave him a last gentle smile and left.

Charles kept a return smile on his face a bit longer, waiting until the entrance bell tinkled indicating Moira was gone. Then he dropped the bonnet from his hand and stretched tired muscles.

Moira had a point. He was ‘going to visit’ Alex, his youngest stepbrother for a whole month now. Since Alex started working at a confectionery on the other side of the town, with his blonde hair and brilliant smiles, crowds of visitors, both female and male, flooded the small shop. The owner was highly satisfied and opened an outdoor café; he encouraged Alex’s flirting with customers right up to the point of any serious relationship that could put an end to his easy-going and light-headed nature and start some scandals instead. Still, in his last note, Alex wrote about a particular customer, ‘tall and dark and lean,’ someone with the most piercing gaze, whose advances he just could not help but prefer to those of the other clients.

That made Charles extremely worried, knowing Alex’s taste in men. He could no longer postpone visiting his stepbrother, so he was going today. But obviously not before this hat was finished.

 

The train passed under his window again and again; Charles counted sotto voce. When the number reached eight, he cut the last thread, hiding it behind the small decorative bouquet, and lowered the bonnet on a wooden dummy. He sorted out through the workpieces pensively; there were other orders he wanted to start today but none of them were pressing.

Charles left his stool, brushed and straightened the long apron he used to work in before taking it off and leaving on a pile of books he kept near his bed. Glancing at it, he wondered when he’d have the time to go through at least one of them till the very end.

It was past noon, and he had to hurry if he wanted to visit Alex and come back before dark. He passed the patio with a single frail tree, his corner of solitude and rest in this house. High in the skies, military two-people airships with whirring motors were carrying vast flags and banners of imperial colors, striped pink and yellow.

Charles paused before the mirror in the anteroom. Taking his plain straw hat with a single blue ribbon on it from the high counter, he made faces to his reflection. Moira told him he was cute; Charles didn’t find himself cute at the least bit. There was nothing unusual he could see in the innocently wide blue eyes, messy brown curls he tried and failed to comb and round pale face.

The day promised to be sunny and warm, even though it was only the beginning of spring. He went out to the ringing of the bell and locked the door, hiding the key in his pocket absent-mindedly. The signboard above the entrance saying _Xavier Hats_ creaked in a gust of wind.

Today, the trams to the center were crowded for people were going to the parade, and Charles had to stand on the last step, in the puffs of white smoke. The town was buzzing, busy and festive. Charles watched anticipating townspeople, waving hands to the airships flying above eagerly, shouting, screaming, and laughing. The bursts of colors and muffled talks made his head heavy.

Near the central square, he caught a glimpse of the parade Moira was talking about. Infantry was marching to the uproar of the crowd and motley confetti thrown out of the windows. Cavalry caused even more hype; women tossed flowers under horses’ hooves, flags of different divisions and regiments speckled under the bright sun.

Feeling dizzy, Charles rubbed his forehead. It was better to shortcut; he turned over the corner to the next street that was empty and much quieter. Here, infantry stocked their purveyance alongside several houses; Charles pulled his hat down over his eyes and quickened his pace. Zigzagging the winding streets, turning his head right and left, he realized he had no idea where he was. Of course, he had Alex’s note with exact address in it. Still, Charles didn’t feel like finding someone to ask the directions right now.

With his nose in the note, he walked slowly and only noticed two infantrymen when almost bumped into the coat of one of them. Charles glanced up the two rows of glistening buttons and froze, anticipating trouble.

“Well hello. Looking for something, little mouse?”

The soldier before him was young and blonde and could have been considered handsome if not for the cocky smile forming cruel crease in the corner of his mouth. The other was older and wore rich moustache. Both of them clearly had nothing to do; molesting passers-by was their way of having fun.

“N– no, I’m fine,” Charles forced out, blushing slightly.

The younger soldier smirked.

“So maybe you could keep us company then?”

“I’m in a hurry, actually,” Charles said, lowering his gaze and instinctively clasping elbows to his sides.

The other, moustached soldier leaned closer to look under Charles’s hat.

“He’s a real little mouse,” he grinned amusedly.

“Are you local? How old are you? Why not in the army?”

The questions would not stop falling, and Charles felt nothing good would come out of this whole situation. He tried to step away, but they both blocked his way.

“Hey, don’t scare him!”

“Why me, it’s you who have these horrible whiskers.”

He didn’t know what to do, feeling irritated and at a loss at the same time. When one of them reached out a hand, he jerked back, realizing he won’t be able to run away, and no one would hear if he called for help, not when there was a parade on the next street.

“Look, look, he’s so cute when he’s angry–”

A heavy hand suddenly embraced him by the shoulders, sparing him the need to act. Charles froze, goose bumps marching along his spine.

“Sorry, you’ve been waiting long?”

The voice above Charles’s head was low and rumbling; he could feel strangely calming warmth coming from the chest pressed to his back. He very much wanted to look up but he stood still, eyes watching the changing expressions on the infantrymen’s faces: surprise, uneasiness, irritation.

“Who the hell are you? Do you know him, little mouse?”

“You two are not very graceful, are you? Well, for now, you are dismissed. Have a walk, gentlemen!”

The hand lying on Charles’s shoulders lifted, waved at the soldiers, and they stretched at attention. Another wave made them turn around and march in an indefinite direction, groaning and exclaiming in disarray.

“Metal in their uniforms is so much less obedient these days,” the overhead voice said regretfully. “Probably, some admixtures–”

Charles finally dared to raise his head and stared at his rescuer. The man was tall and grinned roguishly, showing his teeth – too much of them, Charles thought, enthralled by the thin firm features and high cheekbones. His face was a bit harsh, as if carved in metal, and his steel-gray eyes emanated confidence only a handsome person possesses.

Charles gulped. For a fleeting moment, he became extremely conscious about the loose white shirt with broad naked chest apparent in the deep neckline, and a blood-red glinting pendant dangling on it. The same stone sparkled in the man’s left ear. His jacket with wide sleeves, parched with red and violet rhombs, was draped over the shoulders casually.

The man’s smile barely noticeably softened on the edges at the sight of Charles’s puzzled face; he offered a sharp strong elbow.

“Don’t judge them harshly, they were just bored. May I walk you? Where were you going?”

 

The streets winded further but the stranger seemed to know exactly where they were going. Every turn was deliberate; Charles couldn’t help feeling at ease near this man, whose warm arm was pressing to his side from wrist to shoulder.

They walked unhurriedly, Charles bewildered and lost in thought. He did not have the nerve to ask anything, even though the questions swirled fervently in his head.

His escort didn’t have the same problem.

“Huh, so he did find me,” the man hemmed wistfully. “Sorry I dragged you into this.”

Charles casted a sidelong glance at him; the man was smiling giddily, even though there was a small irritated frown settling on his forehead.

“Don’t be afraid, they are after me. Just walk as we do.”

It was only in a moment that Charles realized what the man was talking about: right ahead of them, blocking the narrow paved street, something dark emerged right out of the walls. The shadows grew and gained form; squeaking and creaking as if made of rubber, they fell apart to form separate creatures, monster-like, black, with disproportionately long arms and missing necks. They opened their mouths wide, and there, in the round funnels, impenetrable darkness swirled.

Charles gasped and clutched onto the man’s hand. If not for this, he would probably faint at the spot: his chest was squeezed so tightly he couldn’t take a breath and his legs buckled against his will. What were these monsters going to do, suck them to death or strangle?

From behind their backs, he heard rushing steps and similar rubber creaking; he didn’t have to look to know: monsters were there, too.

The alley plunged into half-light; Charles trembled, trying to shrink. There was a light squeeze on his hand; he looked up, expecting to see the same panicked expression he felt was forming on his face. Instead, his escort flashed him a wry smile.

“Let’s go a little quicker, shall we.”

Charles choked on his protest: that obviously was not a question. The man, Charles registered in passing, circled an arm around his waist, speeding up. He was going to ram through the crowd of monsters; Charles grimaced, trying to understand why his legs would obey him, or rather obey the stranger.

The monsters were nearing quickly as now they were running toward them. Charles squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to see any more, but instead of a bump he felt a powerful push up, and his body immediately became light as a feather. The gust of wind ruffled his hair; Charles opened his eyes wide.

There was nothing under his feet. Or to be more precise, there was a town several feet beneath them, red roofs, motley crowd, shouts, confetti, and horse neighing.

_What the–_ Charles started thinking; his thoughts were instantly interrupted by the man’s voice mixed with the howl of wind:

“Don’t tuck your legs, walk!” the man commanded, and Charles listened.

He dropped his legs and stepped on air; it didn’t feel like stepping on the ground at all, but he still could push off and make a second step, and the next one, and again. The wind nudged him in the back easily, urging ahead.

“Great! You’re a natural,” the man grinned at him, and Charles couldn’t help but grin meekly back.

Soft reassurance has done its job. Charles felt a strong warm arm on his back, and it was not all that scary, strolling through the sky, leaving the hideous rubber monsters beneath and behind. Under their feet, the town shouted, buzzed and sparkled, but they were alone here, above the noise and bustling, walking in unison to the distant sound of waltz that replaced military march.

Alex’s confectionery appeared among the roofs, a tall building with high-colored title. The small square in front of it was full of dancing people; there, an orchestra was playing waltz that helped Charles keeping up with the man’s pace.

He walked with rapture growing in his chest. There was a house before them with a spire crowned with a round knob; Charles stepped on it together with his rescuer, pushed off and laughed, feeling light-headed, and at ease, and– happy.

He would have liked if this walk never ended.

The man strolled him to the confectionery and released his waist – Charles felt a tinge of disappointment – but still held him by the hands. He positioned himself on the railing of the third floor and lowered Charles to the balcony.

“You were great,” the man said affectionately. “Wait here for a while until I lure our intrusive friends away.”

“Okay,” Charles whispered, still enchanted by the stroll.

“That’s my boy,” the man grinned his many teeth and stepped off the railing, flying – no, almost falling down.

It took a flash to catch on; Charles gasped, aghast, and ran to the railing, trying to see what happened to the man, but there was nothing strange, no commotion down on the small square. People were laughing and talking and dancing. Charles peered closely, yet it was no use trying to spot the tall figure of his rescuer in the crowd. He would probably never see him again.


	2. The Warlock of the Waste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Charles just fights the circumstances by talking to himself. I tried a bit of humor here, sorry if it didn't work (and yes, I love Charles with his hair but oh well, I couldn't resist)

“Charles, is that true?” Alex was wide-eyed and a bit pale. “They say you came down the stairs; did an airship land you off?”

“Something like that,” Charles stifled a nervous laugh.

Telling about the strange adventure made Charles distracted and dreamy all over again. Alex stared at him in awe.

“You sound different,” Alex shook his head reprovingly. “Can it be you’re finally in love? That’s a poor choice you made, dear. Anything but a warlock, really! Besides, the times are turbulent.”

Charles waved a hand dismissively.

“I don’t think war has anything to do with me.”

“I wasn’t talking about war. I heard, the Moving Castle is nearby. And there are talks about the Warlock of the Waste wandering these places.”

“So what? I don’t think any of the magicians can take interest in me. Why would they need a poor hatter?”

“’Cause you’re cute and smart and kind–”

Charles sighed.

“Alex, I know you’re my brother and you love me but flattery never works on me.”

“I’m not flattering!” Alex said defensively. “Where are your eyes when you look into the mirror?”

“I don’t have time to stare at my reflection,” Charles muttered, feeling irritation coiling in his chest at the memory of his morning grimacing into the mirror.

Alex snapped his fingers.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve just turned eighteen but it seems like mom had burdened you with the shop completely!”

“It’s not a burden–” Charles started to protest but Alex interrupted him flat.

“That’s not what I mean. Do you really want to work in that shop for the rest of your days?”

“Dad loved that shop. Besides, I am the eldest, so it’s my duty to take on the family business.”

Alex scowled and grabbed Charles’s shoulder. Squeezing it lightly.

“But there must be something better for you to do! You have to decide this yourself, Charles. Stop behaving like an old man already.”

Charles shrugged, feeling uneasy.

“Let’s stop that conversation now. I came here to listen about you. How’s your tall and dark and lean?”

“Oh–” Alex released his shoulder, all ablush. “That’s Armando. Come, I’ll introduce you.”

 

Way back was much faster due to Alex’s instructions, as it was much less enthralling. Charles walked briskly, deep in thought, trying to think of anything but his strange morning acquaintance.

Alex’s current crush was a nice distraction. Despite his stiffness, Armando turned out to be a sweet young man, actually rather tall and dark-skinned, and not at all the type Alex usually picked. That was one thing Charles could stop worrying about. As for Alex’s worries about his older brother’s destiny, Charles never thought about anything except for being a hatter at the father’s shop. Probably not the most adventurous future yet definitely a stable and guaranteed one.

At the door of the shop, he rummaged his pockets for the key. He paced through the shop confidently despite the darkness set inside, took off his hat and lit the lamp, thoughts switching to work he still had to do today.

The doorbell tinkled; Charles turned around, surprised. There should be no visitors at this hour. Besides, he definitely remembered locking the door.

An elegant gentleman stood at the doorstep. He was dressed in silky black furs glistening under the soft light of the lamp. A vast hat covered half of his face, casting sharp shadows over it, allowing to see nothing but a small smile on thin lips.

“Sir, the shop is closed. Would you be so kind coming back tomorrow?”

The man advanced the counter, looking around the room, examining hats, caps and bonnets hanged on the walls.

“What a cheap shop,” he said with lazy aversion and looked at Charles from under the pent. His eyes were blue gray, with little cold twinkles in them. “He must’ve gone crazy. Why would he choose _you_?”

Charles startled, indignant blush creeping up his cheeks. He had no idea what the man was talking about, and he didn’t care much. Allowing some stranger intrude and talk like that to him in his own shop, father would have never allowed something like that. Charles walked past the man, gathering all his willpower, and opened the door implying he left.

“It’s a humble hat shop here. I don’t think we can help you. Please leave.”

The man grinned, and it looked so wrong that finally gave Charles a chill.

“Oh. You have to be very courageous to go against me, the Warlock of the Waste, dear,” he said and stepped forward.

It happened in a glimpse. The man turned into a blur, moving toward Charles, ghosted over him with a dark shadow of his long fur coat, ruthlessly ripping something out of him, taking away something warm and resilient. The lamp on the counter glimmered, casting the shop into darkness for a split second.

“You don’t tell anyone about my curse,” the voice from the door sounded pleased. “Say hi to Erik.”

Several moments passed in silent torpor before Charles looked up, feeling numb. He was alone in the shop, the door closed behind the strange visitor. The light of the lamp was even, and nothing indicated the presence of the intruder save for a dull pain at the back of the neck and an odd weakness in the limbs.

His knees felt a little sore, too; probably, he hit them when he fell onto the floor. What did the man want from him? What was he talking about, the Warlock of the Waste, the curse, Erik?

Was he the Warlock of the Waste? Who the hell was Erik, then?

Charles leaned on his hands in an attempt to get up, and his gaze froze, eyes riveted to the skin on the back of his hands. It was wrinkled and withered, with swollen veins, the skin of a man who was at least eighty. Charles yelled, waving them frantically, trying to get rid of the weird illusion, then brought his hands closer to his eyes, inspecting closely. Nothing changed.

In a sudden realization, Charles clasped both hands to his face. His fingers felt deep lines everywhere, on his cheeks, forehead, neck, two deep creases around the mouth.

He jumped to his feet, refusing to feel stiffness in his legs, and rushed over to the triple mirror.

A bow-backed old man gawped back at him. His face was yellowish and covered in wrinkles, and there was long gray hair framing it, falling on his shoulders. Expression of astonishment made the face look like a still mask. The face was unfamiliar and strange.

And yet, Charles had to admit, it was definitely _his_ face, wincing and scowling at his will.

The anxiety and dismay gathering in his chest for the whole day finally gave in and flooded him. He grabbed the scissors – one of the girls must have left them on the counter – and pulled the strand of gray hair, cutting it off with rage he never thought he was capable of. Lock by lock, a small pile of hair grew at his feet when Charles finally stopped. His hands were shaky, one of them still clutching scissors. He gulped and looked into the mirror cautiously.

The old man didn’t go anywhere, only now his head was in a mess, hair sticking out in haphazard strands. Charles couldn’t contain a nervous, broken chuckle.

“You have to calm down, Charles,” he said aloud in a quivering and croaky voice. “Calm down!”

The voice sounded strange to his ears but at the same time pacifying, forcing him to accept the fact: he was an old man now.

 

He woke up early next morning, feeling tired and wrecked, with watery eyes and unpleasant full-body ache. Instead, his mind felt refreshed and calm.

The mirror showed him the same crooked old man but it wasn’t surprising any more. Charles tried to comb his hair; seeing it was useless, he sighed and took out a razor from the drawer.

“Now you’re bald, my friend,” he said to his reflection, slapping a palm on his head and rubbing to the odd sensation.

He didn’t like the idea; still it looked better than the scattered strands of different length from before.

“Charles? You awake?”

The knock on the door startled him. For a short crazy moment, he looked around the room, thinking about where to hide.

“What is it, Moira? I’m still in bed, feeling sick today.”

Moira’s voice sounded alarmed and subdued from behind the door.

“Oh, your voice’s terrible. I’ll bring you some medicine–”

“No don’t!” Charles exclaimed. “Er– you shouldn’t come in, what if you catch my cold? I’ll gather some pills later myself, don’t worry.”

“Oh– okay. Madam Marko came back, I thought I should tell you–”

Charles sighed. He hasn’t seen his mother for a while, her third husband taking up all of her time. But showing up at this moment?

“Thank you, Moira. Tell her I’m ill and won’t come out today.”

Moira was silent for a moment; Charles almost heard her doubting whether to come in or do as he asked and leave him alone.

“Get well, Charles.”

The worried rustle behind the door subsided, and Charles let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He couldn’t possibly stay here like this. There was no choice but go find that blasted Warlock of the Waste and make him return his age. That meant he had to head outside the town, probably up the Broken Valley, and further to the wasteland.

Going around the house was easy enough; at this hour, only Moira was at the shop, and she was busy entertaining his mother. Charles pulled on a vest for warmth (everyone said he looked like an old man in it; well, now it surely suits him more), grabbed his hat and a cloak, and made his way into the kitchen. Feeling himself a thief, he found half of bread and a slab of cheese, wrapped them into an old rag and snuck out of the house.

The morning was bright and sunny, light chilly breeze climbing under the cloak. Charles moved carefully, mindful of his cracking joints and stiff muscles, groaning and sighing constantly. Being an old man turned out to be unusually difficult and constricting. Passing through the bridge above the rails, Charles was caught in a puff of black smoke from the train. He coughed heavily, when some young fellow called out to him.

“Hey gramps, need a hand?”

Charles flinched inwardly: concern from the others felt obnoxiously bizarre.

“Thanks, son, I’m good.”

By midday, he left the town far behind and climbed a couple of miles up the hill. The Broken Valley was now lying at his feet, windswept and green at this time of year. Random rocks were scattered here and there, covered in moss and overgrown with tiny wild flowers.

Charles stopped and looked around, feeling stiffness in his feet. Despite the morning malaise, he was rather a vigorous old man. Still, a pit-stop sounded like a nice idea. Besides, his stomach growled and Charles remembered he ate nothing since he came back from Alex last night.

He sat down and untied the rag with food. Chewing on bread and cheese, he observed the result of his efforts: the town was still too close, despite how hard he tried to get away. It was splayed low beneath him, with a sparkling strip of river and tiny, toy houses painted in reds, vivacious pinks and blues.

Charles looked around, admiring the calm green landscape that was rare in the town until his gaze caught on a thick branch sticking out of the lush low bush nearby.

It would be nice to have a cane, he thought, raising up and putting his bread down. It might be easier moving with its help.

The branch, however, got jammed between the thin knarred twigs; Charles pushed and pulled but nothing helped.

_Come on, come on!_ Charles gritted his teeth trying his best to get the branch out of the bush. _Don’t be stubborn! I’m still going to get you!_

The branch cracked and yielded, springing out of the bush with loud rustling. Only, that wasn’t a branch at all. Charles looked at the scarecrow he dragged out, surprised and disappointed.

_A scarecrow? I wonder how it got up here,_ he mused watching the shabby jacket of some wild blue fur it was wearing. _Who in the world would paint the fur_ blue _? And is that a turnip? You look like Turnip– erm– Turnip Hank to me._

A strange sensation of gratitude flooded him, emanating from the scarecrow. Charles took a step back, shaking his head.

“I hate turnip,” he muttered under his nose. “Well, off I go. Bye-bye, Turnip Hank!”

He felt stupid for talking to a scarecrow, even more so for giving it a name, but hey, he was now around eighty, people at this age could afford to be a little bit eccentric, right?

Nearing sunset, the wind grew colder and stronger with every yard Charles made up the hill. Although the town still seemed to be nearby, there was less grass and more rocks around now. Charles struggled for every step, forced to lift his legs higher, stopping more often to catch his breath.

A rhythmic frequent conking from behind made Charles jump up in surprise. He watched the advancing figure with his eyes wide, trying to convince himself scarecrows couldn’t move on their own will. Perhaps only if they were some kind of magical beasts.

Turnip Hank stopped right in front of him, digging deep into the rocky soil, and dropped a fancy-looking cane to Charles’s feet.

“A cane? Really? How is that possible?” talking to the scarecrow was definitely crazy, yet not as crazy as a grateful and caring scarecrow. “Maybe you also have a house to bring me to?”

The scarecrow smiled with its forever frozen eager smile. Seriously, who draws something like that on a turnip?

In a gust of wind, Turnip Hank trembled and swayed, jumped up and hopped downhill as if it – or was it ‘him’? – had somewhere to attend.

Charles couldn’t feel surprised anymore. He picked up the cane with a handle in form of a bird’s beak, waved a hand at Turnip Hank and moved further, focusing on walking rather than thinking.

The cane actually helped. The clouds were scudding low, covering the sun and carpeting darkness over the wasteland when Charles finally got to a high flat plateau at the foot of the mountains. Here, it snowed with small prickly flakes, biting the bare skin of his face and hands. Charles wrapped in the cloak tightly, trying to keep warm. In the small gap between the clouds, a large war airship surfaced with multiple flaps and double decks, decorated with imperial flags. Charles followed it with his gaze, breathing heavily.

The gap in the clouds closed, and Charles sniffed, sensing a sudden smell of smoke.

A house, up here? Maybe a hunting cabin, even though Charles was at a loss trying guess what could be hunted in the wilderness of the wasteland. The thought was incredible but inspiring. Charles felt several years younger, climbing a slight rise toward the warm smell of hearth and home.

First thing he saw was a burly dark shadow. Next a set of spikes, domes and roofs appeared, together with several stovepipes vigorously throwing blue smoke into the air.

The shadow moved forward with growing noise, rumbling and pounding, transforming into a strange, piling up building.

Charles shuddered: the building had eyes and mouth and legs, and it was moving toward him.

Ahead of it, with its ridiculous smile on, Turnip Hank jumped happily.


	3. The Demon of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Castle walks, the fire talks, the wizard gets a scorch mark, and Charles gets a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who left comments and kudos. It helps me keep up with this one.

“No way,” Charles muttered disbelievingly. “That’s the Moving Castle, right? Wait, you call _that_ a castle?”

Turnip Hank hopped cheerfully beside him while Charles watched the castle impending. When Charles heard ‘moving’ before he would have never imagined it actually having _legs_ , for heaven’s sake!

“Turnip Hank, is this your doing?” Charles mumbled, not caring about sounding mad anymore. “I did ask for a house to stay but this is a bit too much–”

The castle halted right in front of them, huge; it was hard to imagine how many storeys of piling balconies and roofs it had. Charles stepped forward to look closer; there was an entrance that hanged low to the ground, grazing upon the protrusive rocks. A small dim lantern lit the door, an ordinary, wooden one, studded with rusty metal and cankered with time and teredos. Turnip Hank jumped up and down beside it, telling Charles to get inside.

And so Charles tried, hands shaking from cold or maybe nervous anticipation. The moment his palms touched the door, however, the castle rumbled and came to life again, starting to move slowly. Two of its huge legs tore off the ground heavily and made a step forward.

Charles clenched his teeth and pushed the door open without hesitation, nipping along the castle. His hands slipped off the door knob but he managed to plant one foot inside and fell over the threshold, panting, watching Turnip Hank grinning as a lunatic, lagging behind.

Charles smiled sheepishly back, closed the door and listened. Inside, it felt like the castle wasn’t moving at all, everything calm and silent except for the soft crackling of the fire.

He stealthily climbed up several steep stairs, trying to remember the last time he allowed himself such obstinate impertinence. The huge hall opened before his eyes, draped in deep shadows, with the only source of light coming from a vast stone fireplace. Charles peeked right and left, trying to see if there was anyone, but the hall was empty. Sighing in relief, he climbed the stairs all the way up and hurried to the fire, eager to warm his frozen hands.

Firewood crackled soothingly, small quivering shadows flickering over the walls. Charles added some more; the wood landed with light rustle, sinking into the deep pile of ashes. _Did anyone ever clean it?_ a random thought slipped in his mind.

A wooden chair standing before the fireplace came in handy; Charles flopped on it and sighed wearily, stretching his hands to the fire, taking his time to sate on the warm sensation spreading all over his tired body and examine the softly lit room.

Chaos reigned in the hall chocked up with jambalaya. There was a staircase leading to the next floor at the end of it and a dark red couch in the corner; the rest of the room was taken by tables and chairs with heaps of whatnot on them, cabinets staffed with jars and bottles of all shapes and sizes, obscure figurines, open books and scrolls, all covered in thin layer of small debris and fine dust. Above the head, there were dirty beams with bundles of dried leaves and herbs hanging down from them. Thick spiderwebs entangled with dark shadows nestled in the corners.

Charles observed the mess reproachfully. This room looked more like a dump than a castle.

He was dozing off when the fire swayed; Charles startled and woke up on his chair, hearing a distinct apprehensive sigh close to him, but there was still no one around.

_That’s no good_ , he thought to himself. _Old is old but hallucinations are really out of order._

“Who do you call a hallucination?” a voice asked, coming from the fireplace.

Charles frowned. Did he say it aloud?

There were more pressing things to think about, though. The fire under his glance was yellow and warm but under the regular aureate flickers, there was a deep blue framed in bright red. And it was looking at him with blinking golden eyes.

“Oh right. A talking fire,” Charles said musingly, not a hint of surprise in his voice. “Why not.”

“Not just a talking fire!” the flames flashed, outraged. “I am the mighty demon of fire so you know.”

“If you say so.” It was somehow funny watching the demon of fire blushing indignantly, which looked like more red growing on top of the blue. Charles smiled, fascinated against his will. “So this is your castle, then?”

“What,” the fire chuckled in disbelief. “Don’t you even know where you are? It’s Erik’s, and I’m here nothing more than a slave.”

“Oh-uh, poor thing,” Charles clicked his tongue. “What keeps you here then?”

“I’m under his spell, actually,” the demon answered eagerly. “Though I can’t tell you anything about it. As I can see, it’s same for you.”

Charles stared at it for a moment, trying to get his tongue to agree but unable to get a sound.

“Don’t even try it, the spell won’t let you talk about it,” the demon cackled. “How about a deal? I’ll take care of your curse if you help me take off mine.”

“Promise?”

The fire snorted.

“I don’t promise anything!”

“Well, I don’t bargain with a demon that doesn’t know how to keep its part of the deal,” Charles smirked.

The fire blushed in deep red.

“I am a _she_!” it snapped and added somewhat shyly, “The name’s Raven.”

“Oh, it makes a difference,” Charles said ironically and yawned, feeling extremely tired. “But oh well, why not. We have a deal then.”

Raven crackled something under her breath but Charles didn’t hear her already, sleep enchaining him in its soft warm fetters.

 

He woke to the sound of knocking, trying to remember hastily where he was. The ceiling was dark and sooty. His thoughts muddled, still slow after a fast sleep. But oh, the muscles ached like hell. What was he thinking, falling asleep on a chair? He was not an eighteen-year-old boy anymore.

Charles straightened on his chair carefully, his joints cracking vehemently on the tiniest move. The stomping of feet down the stairs made him shiver and spin on the chair.

The knock on the door repeated, and a young voice called drowsily:

“Coming!”

Charles stared at a redhead boy barely out of his twelve jogging to the door hastily, paying no attention to the intruder sitting beside the fireplace.

“It’s Westchester,” Raven said to the boy and turned to Charles at once, “Gimme some more wood, I’m starving.”

Today, it was much more surprising to see a talking fire, was it a demon or not. Charles raised up to throw more wood on the fire while the boy leapt down the staircase and flung the door open.

“Lord Mayor,” he greeted the visitor.

“Does wizard Magneto reside here?”

“Master is not present currently. How can I be of any help?”

Charles came nearer and descended several stairs to peek over the boy’s shoulder. There was a tubby squat man in his fifties at the doorstep, handing out a letter with imperial seal on it.

“Pass this to your master. The Emperor desires every warlock, sorcerer and magician to aid in this war, this is an imperative. Good day.”

Lord Mayor touched the pent of his bowler in farewell and went off down the broad paved street. Charles stared in his back in futile attempt to percept the fact they somehow turned out to be in the center of the biggest harbor city reached in just one night.

“That’s sea, isn’t it,” he said incredulously, and the boy behind his back jumped up three feet.

“Who the hell are you?! How did you get in here?”

Charles looked at the boy. His nose and cheeks were covered in joyful freckles, and the paleness of his face made them stand out even more.

“I’m Charles,” he nodded behind his shoulder toward the demon of fire. “Raven let me in.”

“I did not ‘let you in’,” Raven called out from her fireplace, crunching on firewood hungrily. “You entered yourself, no invitation.”

“As she says,” Charles admitted nonchalantly and turned to face the boy again. “How did we get to the harbor? I came in from the wasteland last night.”

“Er–” the boy mumbled, clearly out of words.

There was another knock on the door, and the boy startled.

“Genosha,” Raven called, munching her woods non-stop with loud scrunching.

The boy turned to the door and rotated the knob swiftly, turning it red mark up.

Charles stared outside past the new guest at the threshold, a young dandy soldier in the bright red uniform of Imperial Guardsmen. Behind his back, domes and spikes of the capital towered in cascades.

The guardsman handed out another letter with the same seal on it.

“To Master Lehnsherr,” he said. “His Majesty desires to see him at once.”

“Our thanks,” the boy answered stiltedly, putting the second letter in the same pocket he hid the first one.

The guardsmen saluted, put on a cockaded hat and departed in a measured pace. Charles stared after him in astonishment.

“What _is_ that door?” he asked, taking a step forward to have a better look out.

The capital’s buildings were grandeur, richly adorned and decorated with such heavy architecture it dazzled him and made his head spin in a merry-go-round of colors.

“When Erik gets here, he’ll deal with you,” the boy said, watching him suspiciously. “Now move or I’ll leave you outside.”

Charles came in obediently but didn’t go after the boy upstairs. He touched the handle hesitantly; it had four marks on it, red that was up right now, followed by green, blue and black. Casting a glance over his shoulder and making sure the boy wasn’t looking, Charles turned the handle green mark up and opened the door.

The gust of cold dank wind made him shiver. The wasteland outside was covered in raw fog, white and thick so Charles saw nothing within several yards.

He slammed the door hastily and turned the handle again. It was the turn of blue mark; yanking the door open, Charles viewed the harbor city and a glistening vast sea on the horizon again.

He was going for the last one but the boy didn’t let him finish the ritual.

“Stop that,” he scowled, looking down the railing. “Master Erik won’t be happy with you here.”

“What’s behind the black mark?” Charles asked, skipping the boy’s phrase about ‘Master Erik’ past his ears and radiating curiosity instead.

The boy shrugged.

“Only Erik knows,” he said, eyeing Charles warily. “I’m going to have my breakfast now. You can join if you want.”

Charles raised his eyebrows. _What’s with the sudden hospitality_ , he wondered. _Wasn’t he really suspicious a moment ago?_

Still, it wasn’t reasonable to refuse such a generous offer. Not when there was a vacuum in his lower regions because he only had one modest snack yesterday.

“What are we having for breakfast? I’d really enjoy a large meal.”

“No way,” the boy said, cutting a piece of bread and plopping a slice of cheese on top. “Raven listens to no one but Erik, making her cook is impossible. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Oh,” Charles mused, boldly rummaging through the drawers. “But there’s bacon and eggs– Don’t you want some?”

The boy paid his words no attention, munching through his sandwich. Charles shrugged, returning to inspection of several pans hanging near the fireplace and choosing one middle-sized. Raven eyed him conspicuously while he advanced her with a basket full of eggs and some bacon on a plate.

“I’m not cooking,” she said decisively. “You won’t force me.”

“I never dreamt to,” Charles reassured her and put a pan down; it was heavy. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted me to tell Erik about our small deal we agreed upon last night.”

Raven gasped and coughed on ashes, which looked extremely comically.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“If I wouldn’t have to,” Charles agreed and brought the pan closer to the fire. “So? What do you say?”

The pan dropped on the flames with light sizzling. Raven, turning red, looked away defiantly.

Charles chuckled, waiting for the pan to heat up and feeling the boy’s incredulous stare with his back.

“Won’t you bring me a kettle, dear? I really like my morning tea.”

The door clacked quietly just as the kettle started boiling.

“Master Erik, good day,” the boy exclaimed behind Charles’s back. “You have two letters from the Emperor, one for Lehnsherr, the other for Magneto.”

Charles listened to soft steps advancing him in quiet, no word escaping the lips of the castle’s master. The kettle started fuming, and he realized that, concentrating hard on the pan and trying to look casual, he completely forgot to put anything on it.

The master, however, spoke to the demon first.

“Aren’t you obedient today, Raven,” he said in a familiar low rumbling voice.

“That’s because the old man bullied me!” Raven reddened guiltily, hiding behind the woods in her fireplace.

“Not an easy thing to do,” Erik responded, amused, and pushed Charles gently away with his shoulder, taking his place at the pan. “Would you mind telling me who you are?”

“I– er, I’m Charles.”

“Of course you are,” Erik chuckled. “Pass me six eggs and three slices of bacon.”

He waved a hand, and a heavy metal pan floated in midair toward Charles; the bacon flopped in it and sizzled cheerfully. Charles passed Erik the eggs one by one and finally lifted his head to look at the master of the castle.

The wizard was apparently accustomed to cooking, not something Charles would expect from any magician. Holding the pan with one hand, Erik broke the eggs over the stone of the fireplace with the other and fed the eggshells to Raven. The fire demon licked it off his fingers with swirly yellow tongues of flame.

Charles already knew it was him, his rescuer from the other day, but seeing him this close again, in his white shirt and motley jacket made his heart beat faster.

“Hmm, well, this place obviously needs cleaning,” Erik said wistfully, poking the eggs with a wooden paddle. “You can stay if you deal with it. Sean, the plates!”

Charles gulped, following Erik like a dog on a leash. _Really?_ he thought in disbelief. _It’s going to be that easy?_

The boy – Sean, Charles thought – raked up the debris and whatnot off one of the tables to position three plates on it and handed a fork to each of them.

They finished on bacon and eggs when Erik raised his head, looking at Charles with eyes narrowed in curiosity.

“So you have anything to give me, Charles?”

“Huh?”

Charles frowned. There actually was something but how would Erik know about it? Besides, did he really want a ‘hello’ from the Warlock of the Waste that much?

“Look in your pocket.”

A note was inside, blood-red paper folded in two. Charles fiddled it in his fingers, trying to figure out how it got there.

“Give it to me,” Erik stretched his hand out, and Charles passed the note.

Or rather he tried; paper caught on fire as soon as it touched Erik’s fingers. Both of them jerked their hands away, and the burning piece fell onto the table, scorching a complicated pattern into it.

“Whoa!” Sean shouted, jumping to his feet. “It’ll burn the table!”

But the fire ceased as soon as the paper burned down completely, leaving the smoking array, slightly glowing along its lines.

Charles jerked his head up, expecting to see Erik enraged, but instead there was a wicked smile on his face, toothy and all, with vexed lines etched on his forehead.

“Oh, that’s an ancient spell he’s given me this time,” he said, never tearing his eyes off the array. “A nasty one–”

“Is that Shaw, Master? It’s that damn Warlock of the Waste, right?”

Erik didn’t listen. He stared into the scorch mark seeing a message he could read.

“ _You, a man who caught a fallen star_ ,” the wizard cited, covering the mark with his hand, “ _your heart will be mine._ ”

Fire fumed from the slots of the pattern, licking Erik’s palm. Charles looked at the deepening frown on his forehead and a beastly smile curling his lips, feeling the chills creeping down his spine. He saw Erik’s forelock flutter in imperceptible breeze, when the wizard finally swept the scorch mark off the table as though it was never there.

Instead, Charles a glimpse of it on Erik’s palm that he hid right away.

“See, the table’s fine,” the wizard said, cradling his hand and raising from the chair. “You can continue your breakfast. Raven, I need hot water, now. And take the castle further into the wasteland.”

Charles followed Erik with his eyes. Sean, who was more accustomed to magic going on around him, sipped on his tea and asked casually:

“So, you work for the Warlock of the Waste?”

Charles almost turned over his own cup.

“Nonsense! I would never– he is the one I’m–” Yet not another sound left his lips no matter how hard he tried. Charles sighed heavily. “I can’t tell. Just so you know, I’d never work for him.”

Sean watched him with raised eyebrows. Charles frowned and took a mouthful from his steaming cup.


	4. The Wrath of Iron Martlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik throws a tantrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it took me so long with this one. I was sick for almost two weeks and didn't get to lay hands on my laptop.  
> Still, thank you for all the comments and kudos. I really appreciate those.

Cleaning of a single hall downstairs took him several days. He scratched and scrubbed, trying to get rid of the garbage that piled up for it felt like decades. At first, his crooked back didn’t let him clean properly but in a couple of days he felt miraculously better. Probably, physical labor could do wonders to a stiff spine.

Raven lamented and yelled at him when he swept the ashes, trying not to disturb her sitting heavily in her nestle among the firewoods. Erik, passing by, watched them with a smirk:

“Don’t bully my precious friend, Charles.”

It was easy seeing through him entertaining himself, observing all the fuss and bustle. Still, he was distant, permanent frown on his forehead. He forbid Charles from entering his room, though it was awkward not stern as the wizard probably hoped it was. Charles chuckled quizzically, deciding to ignore the soft pedal and visit his room some time later, when Erik’s away, if only for the sake of taking a quick look.

Erik sometimes joined them for a meal, mostly breakfasts. At such times he was sarcastic and sharp, ready to give his usual full-tooth grin that scared Sean out of his wits like it never scared Charles. On the contrary, he sincerely believed Erik’s smile was charming if not cute.

Yet most of the time Erik was pensive and deep in thought. He locked up in his room and refused to come out. One of such days, Charles tried to lure him out of the room with the smell of hot roast, but Erik only grabbed a bite, smiled weakly and disappeared in the depths of his quarters again. Charles could tell something was troubling him beyond his self-control, and that started to get on his nerves.

The sight of the bathroom made Charles sigh. It was not just dirty as hell but splashed and sprayed in spots of all colors of the rainbow; probably Erik was doing some magical experiments in here. It was a place that undoubtedly knew nothing of a brush or a broom; saving if for the later, Charles wandered around the castle, finding strange locked rooms and doors that led right into solid stone walls. The musty smell that settled in the corners of the castle indicated there were little living space in it.

Several days later, he came across an open balcony, and his breath caught at the view unfolding from it. Mountains covered in snow, vast green sea of the wasteland, a bend of a narrow silver river under a vertical cliff, low puffy white clouds floating just above the ground. Over all this splendor, there was the castle walking unhurriedly, spitting the blue smoke and occasional red-and-blue sparks out of its pipes.

He came down running, gasping with delight.

“Raven, can it be you move the castle? _On your own?_ ” he exclaimed, unable to convey his feelings clearly. “That is incredible! You’re amazing, I can’t believe your magic!”

Raven blushed; Charles noted the sparkles running on the edge of her red from the corner of his eye. Probably, it was because of her dither that the castle shuddered and walked faster along the precipice. It was almost scary, rushing at such speed among the clouds when they brushed the castle’s roofs and spikes.

Sean found him, sticking a head into the doorway.

“Hey, there you are– erm, Charles?” the boy stared at him for a split second. “Charles, how old are you?” he asked unexpectedly, eyeing him with a crease on his forehead.

Charles shrugged.

“I don’t remember,” he said. “How do I look?”

“You look different,” Sean answered earnestly, tilting his head to the side and closely examining him. The gleam in boy’s eyes was probing and persistent, radiating nothing but innocent curiosity. “When I first saw you I thought you were at least eighty. Now, I wouldn’t have given you over sixty.”

“People look younger when they’re happy,” Charles laughed and spread his arms wide, turning to face the view painted blue-and-green; a distant lake was sparkling under the bright spring sun throwing its slanting rays through the gaps in low grayish clouds. “Isn’t this gorgeous? That’s the High Peak. And that’s the Lake of Stars, right? The scenery alone is something to be happy about. And the castle is actually _walking_!”

“You should stop being so surprised about it,” Sean muttered.

They admired the view for a while, Charles glowing with delight and Sean casting him perplexed sidelong glances.

“And what is that?” the boy asked in even more bewilderment, pointing his finger to the left.

There, a thick branch was sticking out of some hole, jerking and trembling. That reminded Charles of something.

“I know exactly what that is,” he rolled up his sleeves. “Or rather who. Help me out.”

They pulled on the ‘branch’ together; this time, it was much easier. The blue fur was matted and dirty, stained in engine oil and thick mud in several places.

“Hello, my friend,” Charles smiled gently. “You do like me finding you in the most peculiar places, now don’t you?”

“Charles, is that–?”

“A scarecrow, yes. His name’s Turnip Hank.”

Turnip Hank shivered in their hands and jumped up, hopping up and down with his ridiculous smile on. Sean stared at it in disbelief.

“You sure you’re not a wizard?”

“Not while cleaning is my special gift,” Charles sighed. “What do you say if we ask Raven to stop the castle and go for a walk? Turnip Hank, what do you think?”

“Stop talking to it like it can understand you.”

“Why, are you jealous?”

Sean frowned, making Charles burst with exuberant laughter. Teasing the boy was just too easy.

 

The town underneath was on fire. Houses flared up like candles, fast and high, throwing showers of sparks into the dark air. The roofs collapsed, entombing the lives lived under them. Low dirty clouds curled, wreathing with strips of black smoke.

Identical airships distinguishable by flags on board only were flying toward each other, swinging their heavy wings, abdominous, bearing large-caliber bombs. The chain of explosions on the horizon; heat raised up, quivering in the air. The gusts blowing in the face were hot and smothery. Iron martlet watched the burning town, suffocating, with deep lines etched along the forehead, wind stuck in the tousled dirty hair.

Erik shook his wings with light clinking and soared higher, escaping the explosion of a massive airship, hiding behind it from the alert eyes of watchers. Too late; he was already noticed. A dozen of small predatory drifters darted toward him, gaping their maws full of sharp teeth rapaciously. They screeched and spit venom, transparent wings flickering frequently through the thick hot air.

Iron martlet lunged higher, breaking through the dense crowd of pursuers, eluding them with swiftness of power on his broad wings, toward the only light spot in the dark skies overcast with dim clouds. A long stroke of wings, and the light came out, melted, covering him, cutting the chase off.

…The door creaked, letting the dark shadow in, and closed safely behind it. Raven shuddered in her ash nest.

Erik flumped on a chair before the fireplace, threw his feet onto the warm stone and slid down, letting his head tilt back carelessly and expose his neck.

“You reek of burned flesh and metal,” Raven said in disgust. “Shouldn’t you treat that body of yours a little nicer? If you overdo it with changing, you won’t be able to come back to the human form.”

Erik gritted his teeth, beginning the reverse transformation. Metal feathers clinked and dinged, falling down onto the wooden floor and melting away in puffs of scattering smoke.

“Your power is not unlimited, you know,” the demon added, when no reply came.

The pained expression on Erik’s face softened. The gleams of the fire, dancing on his pale, sooth-covered skin, lit several long burns on his cheekbones and neck. Erik sighed, tired and relieved, sat straight on a chair and pulled his jacket closer around his shoulders. Bringing his face closer to the fire, he murmured quietly:

“Everything is ablaze, Raven, from the southern coast to northern border,” there was a small mirthless smile on his lips. “I got attacked, by my own kind.”

“Who, Shaw?”

“Not Sebastian, no,” Erik shook his head. “Snow’s minions, minor scum in their drifting form– She knows I’m avoiding her call.”

“Are you going to report to her?” Raven asked; her golden eyes flickered. “Which alias you prefer?”

“Well,” Erik stood up with a carefree smile unexpected on his face, tugging on the sooth-covered jacket marked with dark burns, cradling one of his arms carefully. “Hot water for my bath, if you please.”

“Again?!”

Erik climbed the stairs quietly and opened first door to the left. Moon casted pale light into the window, long liquid gleams lying over the bed. He came nearer, watching Charles’s chest heaving peacefully in his dream. His face was smooth, regrown hair brown and faintly curly. Erik stretched out his good hand meaning to caress Charles’s cheek but stopped in the middle of the motion.

He sighed and stepped back, sliding into shadows.

 

Charles woke up to the sound of running water. He sat on his bed, surprised, soft moon lying in patches on the floor of his room.

The dream was odd and madly realistic despite the eerie scratchy feeling on the edges of consciousness. Charles could swear he could sense the presence of burnt flesh and steel in the calm air of his room.

Erik came home late tonight, apparently.

_It’s disturbing_ , Charles thought, rubbing on his forehead. The dreams that he has always been having, bright and realistic, have grown more intense since he started living next to the powerful source of magic. Besides, they included Erik every so often, and they were not pleasant at all: dreams of fire, of death, of war. He must have dreamt of where the wizard was attending to every night. And they didn’t allow him to get a wink of sleep after he was abruptly awaken.

Charles flumped onto his bed. He knew exactly he won’t be able to fall asleep today anymore.

…Gray and grim morning caught him dozing on the couch near Raven, exhausted from the lack of sleep. He lulled a cup of cold tea in his hands when the door banged upstairs loudly, making him jump up and out of his drowsiness.

“Charles!”

Erik darted down the stairs, face contorted with anger, red hair tousled and eyes wild. He was shirtless and barefoot, jumping right out of his bed.

Wait, red hair?

“Charles, did you enter my room? Why did you enter my room?!”

Charles stared at him. His hair was _red_ , which didn’t look bad on him but was really unusual and made him look like a northern barbarian.

“What did you move? You mixed something, didn’t you?” Erik yelled in the meantime. “There are spells you don’t touch, see what they’ve done to my hair!”

“That color doesn’t look that bad on you. Besides, I only swept the floor,” Charles said defensively. “Did you know the carpet in your room was magenta?”

“I told you to never, ever open the door! What am I going to do now!”

“But you spread the dust from there all over the castle. It’s tiring to sweep it all the time anew.”

Erik twitched and straightened up, gloom falling on his face. His hair was slowly turning dark, and somehow it was much scarier than his gush of anger.

All the metal in the hall started humming low, making Charles’s hair stand on end. Coal-black shadows thickened in the corners, creeping up the walls. The castle shuddered, and Raven squealed in her fireplace, jerking from the darkness growing near her.

Something metallic whizzed in the air and stuck to Erik’s skin. Screws fastening the nearest chair flew toward the wizard swiftly; one of them almost brushed against Charles’s cheek.

“Oh no, not that again,” Sean muttered in a broken voice. “He calls to the core of metal, I saw it once before, when he got really mad–”

The boy was standing on the stairs, wearing long nightdress, eyes wide and face white in terror.

“Erik,” Charles came closer, cautiously bypassing anything made of metal. “Calm down now, I didn’t mean any harm. That won’t happen again, I won’t come near your room if you dislike it that much–”

The wizard watched him silently, his eyes absent, turned inside himself. His own shadow stretched, swallowing half of the room in one gulp.

“Erik?”

He got no response, only the small metal things, screws, scissors, nails howled menacingly. Pans and the kettle started trembling on their places, preparing to follow the wizard’s call. Charles felt the tension in the air quivering as a taut string.

“Well, fine!” he snapped, clenching his fists, losing patience rashly. “I don’t want to know what your problem is! Stay like this if you want, you magical prat!”

He darted toward the door, disregarding Sean’s huge eyes, yanked it open and jumped over the threshold. It was cold and raining outside, the wasteland immersed in cold blue dawn. Streams of frigid rain fell heavily on Charles’s shoulders and slipped behind the collar of his shirt.

Charles soaked to the bone in an instant. The rain cooled him down, his head numb and alien, the gush of anger feeling foreign to his senses now, as he managed to regain his temper. Why would he be so angry all of a sudden? As if the emotion was not his at all.

The stamping of bare feet on the stone stairs made him turn around.

“Charles!” Sean yelped, grabbing his hand pleadingly. “You need to come back, Erik’s going crazy! Please, I can’t do anything, but he’ll listen to you.”

Charles sighed, gathering himself together. The boy was right, after all, there was no use of getting peeved over such a small matter. He pursed his lips and followed the boy inside.

The contrast between the rainy wasteland and warm, cozy crackling of Raven’s was drastic. Charles shivered slightly, shaking his wet hair back from his forehead. Wasn’t it growing a bit too fast? Not like he minded, but still.

_It surely got longer_ , he thought absent-mindedly, coming toward Erik, who was sitting on a reeling chair with his head dropped between the knees. _Probably, a haircut some time soon–_

“Thank heavens, you’re here. Do something, Charles, he nearly choked me with this darkness!” Raven complained in a scratchy voice.

Charles gave her a swift glance. She was sitting in dismay, embracing firewood with her flames nervously, trying to get away from the shadows seeping through the small cracks in the walls.

“My, isn’t he a drama queen?” Charles softly pat Erik’s shoulder that was bristling with nails and pins semi-molten into it. The bare skin on his back was covered in small metal objects that looked fused into him forever. “Come on, Erik, you need to calm your mind. You hear me? Calm– your– mind,” Charles squeezed his shoulder in time with each word.

The wizard lifted his head slowly. A spark of sense appeared in his eyes; Erik looked at Charles heavily, still unable to control his throat enough to say anything.

“Will he be okay?” Sean asked timidly from behind their backs.

“Well, he sure won’t die of a tantrum. Hot shower should do the trick,” Charles heaved a sigh, rolling up his wet sleeves. “Come, I need a hand. Help us with some water, Raven.”

Together they managed to rouse Erik up; Charles mounted him on his shoulders, feeling the heavy buzzing of metal filling the hall with his skin. Still, the tension already subsided, dying out into a soft rustle of lightening shadows round the walls. The metal covering Erik’s skin was shanking off, dripping onto the floor with quiet thuds.

Raven crackled indignantly as Charles almost carried Erik up the staircase, trying not to think of the bare chest, burning against his back, and the hand embracing his shoulders just like the first time they’ve met on a small paved street of Charles’s hometown.


	5. The King, the Queen, and the Rook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some quiet chess playing

The incident with Erik losing his temper drove him into the bed for the rest of the day, after which he disappeared and came back three days later with a wound he never once showed to anyone except for maybe Raven.

Meanwhile hostilities grew more intense. One day, Sean brought home a heap of leaflets thrown in the harbor from the enemy airship. In return, similar moves were made by the other party; the tubby Mayor of Westchester was walking around the town with his retinue while several newsboys scattered the imperial propaganda flyers.

Erik’s seclusion amplified; he became absent more often and for much longer. Charles wondered when the man manages to sleep: he often came home either late at night, so Charles and Sean were both to bed already, or early in the morning, had a breakfast and a bath and left swooshing through his black door again.

But the most distressing was that Erik stopped talking to Charles at all. He hid his eyes and avoided bumping into him, still feeling angry or maybe guilty for his gust of anger. Waking up at night to listen to Erik coming back from his night forays, Charles felt a twinge of painful self-determination that ate the wizard on the inside.

Charles couldn’t have explained where does he know this from; it just was in his head, and he didn’t want to think too much about it. Cleaning the rooms all around the castle, he was searching for a way to distract Erik from his dark reflections.

His luck has turned when he found a lacquered box upholstered in rusty metal around the corners in one of the rooms closer to the roof, among a variety of things scattered around all horizontal surfaces. The box was expanding into a chess board. Two sets of chessmen were admirably made of silver and gold, with tiny faces and stylized pieces of clothes that made them look as someone assembled them using spare parts of clocks’ insides. Charles couldn’t help caressing the neatly crafted golden rook that probably was the finishing piece made when the master already gained confidence in his powers.

There was no doubt chess belonged to Erik.

Charles waited for him to return in anticipation that didn’t let his mind set on anything else. Sean stared up at him but said nothing, escaping to get engaged in something magical. Raven, who was usually babbly, munched on her firewood while Charles lulled the box in his hands.

Predictably, Erik came home late, when the castle was wrapped up in slumber. He tried to sneak discreetly past Charles, hushing Raven down.

“Erik?”

Charles wasn’t asleep. He straightened on the couch and rubbed his face forcibly to banish drowsiness that settled in the corners of his eyes.

“You should get to sleep,” Erik said robustly, but his harsh tone wasn’t convincing.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come home. I’ve found something,” Charles showed him the chess box. “Looks like an expensive trinket.”

“Where did you find it?” Erik’s eyes lightened up. He reached for the box and pulled it out of Charles’s grasp, opened it and took out the same rook Charles was admiring all day. Lines usually etching on his forehead and around his mouth smoothed; he was several years younger all of a sudden. “You play?”

Charles shook his head regretfully.

“I haven’t for a long time.”

Back at home, his late father did own an old set of wooden chess, but Charles was too busy or never had time to learn how to play properly. Besides, after Mr Xavier’s death, there was no one he could play with.

“I can teach you anew. That is, if you want,” Erik smiled with such an endearing genuineness on his face Charles melted at once.

He smiled back, took the rook out of the wizard’s fingers and caressed it all over again. The feeling of polished metal warmed by Erik’s hands was thrilling and wonderful.

“Let’s see how rusty my skills have become.”

 

Playing chess became something that brought them close as Charles expected. Even more, Erik took away the chess board and brought it to his room, which meant Charles got the permission to enter the sanctuary. The room was ascetically furnished and plain for the exception of piles of books and a variety of amulets, charms and artifacts hanging richly over the walls and occupying all corners – tinkling, gleaming, wincing and swishing each in its own steady rhythm. The mass made the room appear over-stuffed and motley.

“That’s warlock repellents,” Erik explained, not looking Charles in the eye. “I hate to admit it but I’m afraid of Shaw finding me. He’s been really persistent– You think I’m a coward?”

“No,” Charles shook his head. This revelation was not something he could expect from Erik; still he never dared to go back to that matter again.

Despite the continuing rhythm of Erik’s absence, chess served both as a topic for conversations and a reason to spend time together. During these sessions, Charles was able to point out what was troubling him about Erik’s downward humor, especially when the wizard was watching him, deep in thought, paying little attention to their game. Because of that, he missed the deceptive maneuvers Charles planned carefully to lure his king into a trap.

“Maybe you should tell me what’s on your mind today,” Charles said, swinging the captured pawn in his fingers. “You’re not in the game.”

“I’m nervous these days,” Erik admitted, arms and legs crossed. His eyes were scattering around the room instead of the chess board set before him. The wizard was still way beyond Charles and didn’t have to pay that much attention to their games.

Erik sighed and tilted his head to look Charles in the eye.

“I have many aliases. Both Lehnsherr and Magneto have to report to the Emperor, soon, I’ve enjoyed the credence for too long already. But I can’t participate in this war as two different people–” Erik faltered, hesitant to go on in his confession.

“What is it?” Charles asked wondering if he was going to deep.

“That’s not the problem,” Erik intertwined his fingers and set his chin on them; Charles couldn’t help admiring the long lines of his arms and shoulders. “I don’t want to be a part of it at all. That’s why I created myself aliases in the first place; I just wanted my freedom and the right to order my own life.”

“If you don’t want to be a part of it, then don’t be,” Charles said, making a swift move with his knight. “It’s not like the Emperor can force you.”

Erik waved his hand, and Charles turned to see a parchment freckled in tiny ornate handwriting; it was pinned to the wall with several metal objects, a dagger with heavily decorated gemmed handle, scissors, several pins with different socket heads, a coin. It looked like the wizard honed his throwing skills on that piece of parchment.

“I have no right to refuse,” Erik snapped his finger, and the coin flew into his palm, settling there easy and cozily. “Before entering the Sorcery Academy, I had to pledge my loyalty to the crown and bind myself with an oath to come to the Emperor’s call.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what you should do,” Charles suggested, leaning on the backrest of his chair and crossing his legs. “Go. That doesn’t mean you have to fight, right?”

Erik watched him incredulously.

“Are you suggesting me telling Madame Snow I’m not going to participate because I don’t want to? That’s not possible.”

“Why? Who’s Madame Snow?”

“She’s Emperor’s magical advisor, and my former teacher,” Erik said reluctantly, his voice full of repulsion and a pained expression on his face. “She believed I wanted to be her successor; the only thing I wanted was to get as far away as possible from that barf-out.”

“Why don’t you talk to her? I’m sure she’s not as bad as you think of her.”

Erik kept silent, deep in thought. His face was disbelieving yet a tinge of doubt appeared between his furrowed brows.

“It’s like playing chess, Erik,” Charles said and lifted his king off the board. “To get to the king, you have to outwit the queen.”

Erik smiled mirthlessly.

“I am no more than a small pawn in their game.”

“No you’re not. You are–” Charles reached over to Erik’s side of the board, “a rook.”

He laughed softly at the wizard’s lost expression.

“Rook is good, because rook can do this,” Charles promoted castling to withdraw his king from the threat of Erik’s queen.

“I taught you well, didn’t I,” Erik smirked, warm fond smile in his eyes. For the past half an hour he was watching Charles more than he was watching the game.

“Yes, you are a great teacher, Master Erik,” Charles grinned back teasingly.

“And I can tell you like the game.”

“Really? How?”

Erik didn’t answer, just smiled mysteriously, finally looking down at the board to deal with the trap his queen was steadily approaching, which earned him another lost pawn on Charles’s side at once.

“Still so beyond me,” Charles muttered to his amused grin ten minutes later, resetting the board after a spectacular failure.

Half of the next game was played in silence. Erik was keeping an intent unnerving glance glued to Charles, something that was hard to define as plain wander of the eyes. Charles kept shifting in his chair, vain attempts to ignore that absorbing gaze making him itchy until he finally burst out.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Erik faltered.

“I was thinking you should stop wearing those dreadful vests. They are for old men.”

Charles choked in resentment.

“I am an old man! And these are my usual wear. They’re comfortable. Besides, you can wear something less flashy yourself.”

Erik tsked and abruptly changed the topic.

“Why don’t you go?”

“Me? Go where?” Charles wondered, mind lost in the game completely.

“To report to Madame Snow.”

“Huh?”

Charles froze with his hand over Erik’s bishop he just captured. The wizard’s smile grew brighter as the idea gained its shape in his mind. Charles could feel it filling Erik with his usual sharp wittiness he lacked for several days now.

“You should go to Madame Snow as my father and tell her what a lousy idle son you have, that I couldn’t possibly help to win this war. Maybe, that finally makes her give up on me.”

“Is that some kind of a joke?”

“Charles, please,” Erik grabbed his hand; his face was suddenly much closer, little twinkles in his eyes. Charles gulped, trying to resist the instant urge to agree to anything Erik asks him of. “Don’t worry, I’ll be beside you, in a disguise.”

_That’s not the problem_ , Charles through, watching him quietly at a loss for words.

Not like he could refuse those eyes.


	6. A Power with no Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic fights!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some action yay.
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for the kudos. I hope you like the Emma scene as much as I do.

Charles sighed, pulling his hat low over his eyes. Erik nervously stamped near him, trying to cram as many instructions in Charles’s head as possible.

“And don’t sit down until she offers,” the wizard was saying with blank expression in his eyes and a worried crease deep between his brows.

“All right, all right, I got it. Off I go.”

“Wait, you’re wearing this hat?!”

Charles descended the stairs and turned the doorknob red mark up. The capital was lit in warm sunshine, paved streets smelling of a big city: fumes, bustling and otiosity. He was about to make a step outside when a steady hand caught him by the elbow.

“Here, a charm,” Erik put a small ring on Charles’s wrinkled finger. “To bring you back home safe and sound.”

His face was so close Charles felt blush creeping up his cheeks despite how much he tried to refuse it. Of course, it was only his imagination that Erik held his fingers a bit longer than necessary for giving him the charm.

The house of Master Lehnsherr, metropolitan wizard looked like a regular brick building on the outside; there were plenty of those down the street. It was located in a comparatively quiet area, with broad alleys paved in large slabs, deserted this time of the day. Coming closer to the Emperor’s palace, however, the streets widened, cars going both ways. The air filled with coughing of engines and clouds of smoke, distant and nearby shouts, whirling of small private airships high above and flapping of pink-and-yellow flags.

Charles was glancing around, trying to guess, which disguise Erik would choose. _Not one of a crow, of course, too plain_ , Charles mused to himself, spotting a flock of black ominous birds nestling on the cornice of one of the buildings. _He’s a bit too vain for that._

He kept looking around if not for the sake of recognizing Erik but for exploring the city. Genosha was marvelous and breath-taking in its truly royal magnificence. Vast squares with brass memorials turning green sat by pigeons, lavish buildings flaunting multiple decorations, soldiers here and there standing at attention, trees and green lawns breaking through the stone-and-metal jungle. The public was fit, dressed up fancily and all; Charles in his pronouncedly old-man apparel felt out of place.

The Palace Square opened before his eyes, a small town of its own. The domes glistened with gold, galleries around it, numerous windows scattering sunbeams on the swept stones; soldiers demonstrating the idle public how to control small airships. All was leading up to the imperial citadel. Charles fleetingly wondered if his whole hometown could fit in this single square. He was tired even looking at it not mentioning walking across it, even though he felt much better these past few days as he and Erik started their chess sessions. It was as being young again although that sadly didn’t show in the mirror one bit, except for the miraculously straightened back.

“My, aren’t you the little hatter from before.”

Charles jumped in surprise when a palanquin caught up with him, familiar cold voice coming from behind the lowered curtain. Painted dramatically colorful, it was carried by two squeaking and screeching rubber puppets in fitting liveries.

It took him a second to get a grip on himself.

“Master Shaw,” he greeted, touching his pent lightly.

“Thank you for passing my greetings to Erik,” Sebastian Shaw smiled.

“I’d find better use for your gratitude if you’d take the curse off me,” Charles said in a casual voice.

“Oh dear, the curse I casted will be over in a couple of months. Or did you think I had endless energy to support it forever?” Shaw watched him closely. “Although it looks like you were able to break it already. I do remember turning you into a feeble wreck; are you sure you’re devoid of magic completely?”

Charles shrugged, keeping strategic silence. He was living next to Erik and Raven for over a month now; maybe that’s what caused the curse to waver.

“Anyway, what are you doing here?” he asked while Shaw was still examining his face.

“The Emperor called for me,” he said, clearly amused. “That’s a rare. I’d think Snow planned something if they weren’t in such a need for magical power these days. What about you? Hunting for the royal customers?”

“Exactly,” Charles retorted grudgingly, listening to the warlock’s sniggering.

“Well, good luck on that one.”

Shaw hid behind the velvet curtain of his palanquin, and the rubber puppets walked faster, reaching the forged gold-plated gates first. But as soon as they made a step through the gate, they shivered violently. The rubber swelled and bulged in inappropriate places, stripping the puppets of human-like form; they deflated and fell onto the paving in two formless heaps.

“Messire, vehicles are prohibited beyond this point,” an ostiary said in an overly-cheerful voice. “Please, proceed on foot.”

Charles came alongside just as Shaw flung the door of the palanquin open, quirked sneer on his lips.

“Oh Emma, using magic to make visitors climb the stairs? How petty of you,” the warlock chuckled and turned around to face Charles. “How would it be for you, dear? Need a hand?”

The stairs were grandeur, and it was a weak description. Charles looked at it in holy awe: this many stairs were probably only necessary for the purpose of driving away the petitioners for imperial grace.

He didn’t manage to answer Shaw though. At the foot of the stairs, a young swarthy girl with gorgeous black hair bowed to him.

“Messire Lehnsherr? I am your escort, please allow me–”

Without waiting for his answer, the girl grabbed him by the arms. On her back, transparent wings flapped as she soared into the air.

Charles kept his eyes shut until the girl landed him at the top of the stairs.

“Are you alright, messire?”

“I don’t fancy flights all that much,” Charles muttered, feeling a bit nauseous.

“You’re just unaccustomed. It’ll pass in a minute.”

She waited patiently until Charles came to his senses, a guilty expression blushing on her cheeks. For a fleeting moment, he even decided it was Erik in disguise but Charles casted the thought aside: not as a girl, surely not.

Shaw appeared beside them as Charles finally nodded. The swarthy winged girl gave the warlock a depreciative sidelong glance and was rewarded with a shining smile in response.

“Follow me, messires.”

The corridors of the palace’s insides winded in a complicated labyrinth and heavy colors, thick carpets muting their steps. Charles and Shaw followed their escort’s quick pace side by side; the warlock brushing his hand casually over Charles’s, which sent frigid shivers up his arm and made him cling to the walls.

He sighed in relief when they reached a dark candlelit room with draped vinous sofas and mahogany chairs placed in the center rather than near the walls. It was clearly made for visitors to wait.

“Warlock stays,” the girl said and turned toward Charles. “You are awaited.”

Shaw chuckled and sank into one of the chairs.

Leaving the room, Charles heard something crackling behind his back, a sound that a huge flawed bulb would make. But he was too busy chasing after the girl to split his attention.

She stopped before the door made of glass from floor to ceiling, bright sun shining behind it. Charles walked past her, holding a rapturous breath.

The greenhouse was huge, all lit in sunshine spilling through the high glass ceiling. Exotic trees in broad sharp leaves overhead; the sound of water running in a small fountain nearby. The air was warm and slightly humid, fine golden dust swirling in the patches of sunlight.

Charles stepped inside, and pain pierced through him that same moment.

_Dark-red curtains, lifted, glass and blue sparkles around. Chair writhing beneath him, capturing his wrists, preventing him from breaking away. A snap and nasty crackling, smell of burning cloth and flesh–_

He doubled, gulping for air, hearing the girl’s distant uptight voice calling out for him.

“Messire?”

_Light everywhere, so bright, eyes hurt. Shadows standing up, taking hands, reeling in a giddy roundelay; something forcefully taken out, ripped from his heart, whipped away forever. Pain, hurts, hurts!_

“Messire? Are you okay?”

The pain backed away and melted, leaving him numb and weak in the knees; Charles quivered, restoring his breath.

The girl’s eyes were alarmed. He waved a hand, reassuring her he was fine, trying and failing to understand what the hell just happened.

She eyed him askant and led their way between the trees. In a gap, a vast open space emerged. Charles stepped on a polished marble floor, seeing his reflection running before him.

“Messire Lehnsherr,” the girl announced and backed away, leaving Charles in front of a group of people.

Only one of them was sitting, a slim dazzlingly white woman in a niveous attire. Near her, four paunchy men all wearing tailored black suits were standing, deferently clutching bowlers in their hands. At her signal, they all bowed and took their leave. The woman turned to face Charles.

“Good day. My name is Emma Snow, Imperial Advisor on Magic. Please sit down.”

“Charles Lehnsherr,” Charles bowed slightly, taking an offered sit several steps in front of her.

She was beautiful, with slender waist and heavy blonde hair lying in curls on her shoulders. White long-sleeved dress was trimmed with sparkling silver.

“So,” Madame Snow smiled, “you came here for Erik.”

Charles nodded, feeling uneasy: she was surely reading him like an open book.

“That’s my scampish good-for-nothing son, sending his old father to make excuses instead of coming himself. I’m afraid you won’t have any use of him, Madame.”

She inclined her head knowingly.

“Isn’t it a shame. He was my best apprentice; his gifts truly marveled me.”

Charles cracked a forced smile.

“But he bargained with a demon, and now uses his powers to satisfy its urges solely. Messire! That boy is dangerous,” Madame Snow frowned; Charles couldn’t help but think her worry was fake. “His power is too great for someone who has no heart. If he follows that path any further, he will become just as the Warlock of the Waste– Janos! Bring him here!”

A dark-haired boy with appeared, pushing Shaw toward Charles with a gust of a small misty twister. The warlock looked stunned and numb, empty eyes and flaccid face. Charles watched in dismay Shaw making several uncertain steps and finally sitting on the floor, giving up the idea of walking.

“What happened to him?” Charles asked, horrified. Despite the absence of warm feelings toward Shaw, what he saw was appalling. The pain that overcame him when he stepped into the greenhouse came back, weaker this time but pulsing persistently at the back of his head, filling Charles with rage.

“I just stripped him off his powers,” Snow smiled, showing a row of white teeth. “That’s the same I’ll have to do to Erik if he doesn’t show up to serve the Empire.”

The anger brashly grew stronger, and Charles snapped, unable to contain it within.

“Now wait a minute,” he sprang to his feet. “I can clearly see why Erik refused to come. This place is wicked; you, making petty shows for visitors, all these strange rooms that look like a trap to me. And you have the nerve to call Erik heartless! He can often be bad-tempered and selfish, but he’s at least honest in his desires. He wants to be free from you ordering him around. And he can deal with his demons just fine without you telling him what to do!”

Charles fell silent, his chest heaving heavily and blood pounding in his ears. Madame Snow’s smile grew broader.

“My dear child, aren’t you in love with Erik.”

“Huh?!”

The sorceress chuckled at the astounded expression on Charles’s face.

“You don’t know your own worth, do you?” she tilted her head with a soft benevolent tease in her eyes that Charles couldn’t quite understand. “Erik’ll visit us soon. I have found his weakness.”

Charles snorted, not knowing what else he could say, quickly recovering after his blow-up.

Outside the greenhouse glass wall, a small airship landed with a soft twirling of well-debugged engine. The door leading outside opened, and a tall black-haired man came in. His face was all straight lines, a long old scar crossing his left eye and cheek. He was wearing air force uniform, flying helmet, shining knee-high boots and green jacket with no decals but simple shoulder straps indicating the rank of colonel.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Snow gave the comer a slight bow.

The Emperor waved her a hand, exempting her of standing up in his presence.

“The weather’s lovely today,” he said in sharp gnarling voice. “I got out for a breather. Got any news?”

“All as usual, sire,” Snow answered, scrutinizing him with her eyes narrowed, mockery never leaving them.

“Snow!” the same voice came contrariwise. “I got the news of our new spy in the enemy camp.”

Charles gaped at the newcomer. A short pause was marked with stares: two identical men stared at each other, dumbfounded expressions mirrored. In a moment, the one that came first smiled, and the other followed by a burst of laughter.

“Snow, that double is brilliant! As usual you are!” he gave her a wink. “So, what’s with the spy?”

The sorceress tapped her finger on her knee, and several boys appeared around her. The apprentices were all alike, as the clones of the same person would be. They were all dark, thin, decisive, pale skin and bleak faces. One of the boys had a fresh wound on his forehead, a cold and absent look in dark eyes.

 “He has some valuable information on enemy tactics, sire,” Snow pointed him out the wounded boy.

The Emperor put his hand on the boy’s head and smoothed a stray dark strand.

“Send him to my chambers later, Snow,” he said musingly, never tearing his gaze off the wound on the boy’s face.

“Of course, sire,” the sorceress inclined her head in a light bow.

The Emperor departed in a quick pace. Snow watched him going before saying softly:

“Hello, Erik. I’m glad to see you.”

The double’s grin became toothier, turning him into Erik. Charles shivered, feeling relief washing his body in warm current.

“I’ve come to keep my oath. But I am not going to fight for you, Madame, not in this war or any other.”

Snow stretched her lips wider.

“Did you think I’d let you go easy, Erik?”

Charles couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Madame Snow crystallized, turning into a giant diamond; the sunbeams falling all over the greenhouse shone through her and sent sparkles dancing around them.

Erik grabbed Charles by the shoulders, holding him closer.

“Don’t let her get to you,” he whispered barely opening his mouth.

The greenhouse was flooded immediately with water flowing somewhere from under the sorceress’s chair, then underwater with their clothes swimming around them freely, and then, straight away, high among the clouds. No, there was no greenhouse anymore, Charles corrected himself. They were hanging in midair high above the ground, Charles supported by Erik’s strong grip alone, green fields and a twisting strip of river beneath them and puffy clouds all around.

“Don’t believe anything you see. She’s just messing with your mind,” Erik rasped through his teeth. “She tries to drag you into this–”

“It’s time for me to show your _father_ what you really are, Erik,” Snow said amusedly, shadows lying in strange shapes on her crystal form.

The day died fast, stars popping out on the still-light sky. The first fell down, very nearly brushing on them, missing an inch; the second was more accurate, crashing into Charles’s sleeve, bursting and scattering tiny glittering sparkles, blues, yellows, reds.

They weren’t really scary, rather an eerie, otherworldly feeling to them. Charles watched, wide-eyed, how the falling stars crumble apart to form a circle around them, growing tiny arms and legs, grabbing each other’s hands to join into an impromptu round dance. Shimmering tiny heads and subtle bleak bodies; the sparks hummed and muttered some barely legible tune, making Erik’s breath quicken. Charles felt his chest heaving heavily, closely pressed to his back. Dull pain followed by soft buzzing, still pulsing at the back of his head amplified, tearing it into pieces. He shook it vigorously, trying to get the delusion out.

Pain flashed and moved to his shoulder, sharp. Charles whirled his head and gasped: Erik’s hand, holding him by the shoulder, turned into a dark-gray metal paw with claws several inches long. They dug into his arm sorely, tearing the shirt Charles was wearing and scratching on his skin.

The metal was slightly warm.

“Erik!”

His face twisted in agony. Small metal feathers cut through his skin, covering his cheekbones and neck. Charles felt a push from behind; enormous black wings opened and swooshed, sending air blasts all around. Erik growled, shining long fangs in his mouth.

The roundelaying stars hummed louder. There was something deeply wrong with them singing and dancing around; Charles couldn’t grasp what until a tiny flicker blinked somewhere close. He caught the movement in the corner of his eye. A bright sparkle closer than the dancing starts, cautiously moving nearer; he turned around and fixed his gaze on approaching sorceress, ferocious and mad as he never was before. Madame Snow staggered, taking a step back; next moment Charles felt a strong push, not tiny bit material, but it was too late. A second of setback let Erik took ahold of himself; he grabbed Charles in his arms and darted to the side, evading Snow’s attack.

They broke through the wall of the greenhouse, shards of glasses splashing right and left, sprinkling sharp bright beams everywhere, and the world reappeared around them. Charles felt air and sunlight burst into his lungs and eyes, making it hard to breathe for short moment.

Erik dropped him softly into the seat of the airship he flew earlier in disguise and started the engine feverishly.

“Hey, I’m not letting you get out of here without me,” Shaw shouted from behind them, catching up in huge leaps. “Wait!”

The ex-warlock jumped forward, catching onto the taking off airship. Erik’s face contorted in anger.

“You’re not going with us, Sebastian!”

They grappled, Shaw clinging to the seat of the airship, Erik trying to throw him off. The airship swayed and swung, hovering several feet above the ground. Charles looked around; the chase was hot in pursuit.

He grabbed the wheel and pulled it; the airship obediently flew higher, still swaying from the continuing struggle.

“Erik! Let him go, he’s harmless now.”

Erik seethed with anger.

“You don’t understand, Charles! He’s been chasing me for years, I can’t just–”

“Erik,” Charles turned around and put a shaking hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Calm down.”

Erik’s face softened instantly, so fast Charles barely resisted the urge to shake him, mighty surprised. Wasn’t he supposed to argue at first?

“You okay?”

“Yeah– fine. Let him go with us. Give me the wheel.”

Erik’s steering was much better. They broke away from persecution, winding among the spikes and domes of the capital, trying to fly low.

Charles was watching Erik’s back, feeling his fingers going numb; the air force uniform was torn in a form of big X-mark. Apparently, because of the damned metal wings growing from Erik’s back several minutes ago.

“Charles, take the wheel.”

“Erm– didn’t you just see how bad I was?”

Erik smiled.

“It’ll be okay. We won’t get out of the city unnoticed. I’ll distract them while you get away.”

Charles’s insides chilled.

“But– I can’t. You shouldn’t leave me alone–” Charles caught the rest of the phrase at the tip of his tongue. It was not reasonable complaining Shaw was here considering it was he who convinced Erik into letting him stay. “Where should I go?”

“Remember the ring I gave you? Try calling out for Raven.”

Charles tried, and the ring came to life, vibrating and squeezing on his finger. The small sparkle appeared just atop of the small gem and transformed into a short ray, pointing the direction.

“The ring will show you the way,” Erik said, leaning closer and whispering into Charles’s ear. “Thank you for saving me, Charles. I wouldn’t have done it without your help. See you at the castle.”

He straightened before Charles managed to calm down his racing heart; a wave of hand, and the wizard jumped off the airship, turning into the iron martlet, and vanished in a blinding flash of sun high above.


	7. The Martlet’s Cavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry I was late with the updates again, it's hard to post when there's no Wi-Fi around.

The ring was marvelous in its complicated magic. The small gem was shimmering in plain metal, the ray of light rippling from it. Constantly calling out for Raven in fear the shirt ray pointing them toward the castle disappears, Charles heard a surprised voice in his head.

 _Charles?_ he could imagine Raven sitting cozily around one of the firewoods, munching through it with insatiable hunger. “How come I can hear you?”

 _It’s the ring,_ Charles thought happily, shutting his eyes to imagine the charm on his finger and trying to pass the image to the demon. “Isn’t it amazing? Erik gave it to me, and it shows me the way back to the castle.”

 _Oh,_ Raven said with a grain of salt clear in her thoughts. _Right. Of course. Where are you, Charles?_

He brought her up to date quickly, telling about the sorceress ( _She attacked you?!_ ), Erik in disguise as the Emperor ( _That is so much like him_ ), him and Shaw on the same airship ( _Really, Charles, how can you be so naïve?_ ) and Erik flying away to distract the chase.

Raven sighed.

 _We’ve got company, too,_ her thoughts stuttered nervously. _Someone tries to get in through both Genosha and Westchester doors. There are shouts outside and loud knocking. The doors are trembling, I’m not sure they will hold much longer– That must be imperial troops Madame Snow sent to catch us._

 _Does she know where the castle is?_ Charles wondered.

 _I don’t think so, no. I’m taking the castle deep into the wasteland just in case though,_ Raven seemed plaintive. For a short moment, Charles sensed sharp, choking anxiety the fire demon must be feeling.

 _You shouldn’t let anyone in,_ he thought feverishly, trying to get rid of her dismay heating him on the inside. _Let Sean turn the doorknob to the wasteland exit–_

 _Done and done_ , Raven reported. _I have to go, I need all my power to protect the castle’s borders. We’ll meet you at dusk. Try not to get somebody else with you on that flying thing, will you?_

Charles opened his eyes, squaring his shoulders. He had to get back to the castle as soon as possible if he didn’t want to find it lying in ruins.

“You alright?”

Charles jumped up on his seat, fingers clenching into the wheel. Shaw leaned toward him, worried crease on his face.

“You radiate worry. And you’ve been muttering something under your nose and didn’t hear anything around,” he explained. “Feeling unwell? I could steer if you need some rest.”

“No thank you,” Charles snapped. The last thing he needed right now was dealing with Shaw’s witty plans on taking over Erik’s castle. “If I talked Erik out of throwing you down, it doesn’t mean I trust you. Besides, I’m the only one who can fly us home at the moment. So would you shut it and sit still?”

He clenched into the wheel even tighter, trying to stuff deeper a thought that Shaw’s touch still makes him nervous and ready to cry out to Erik for help. Did he do the right thing to let Shaw stay on board, ex-warlock or not?

 

In several hours, Charles was ready to give up and let Shaw at the wheel. Sitting in an uptight position with no possibility to move much, his back and shoulders stiffened and his feet became numb. In addition, it was awfully cold up here. The night was falling, and it began raining. Low ragged clouds spewed icy water on them; it was a wonder these airships had nothing to shelter under. The horizon shimmered eerily with bleak sunset, towns lighting their windows into nasty weather.

Charles wiped his forehead from the water flowing down his face. He was scrutinizing the landscape beneath him until his eyes were bloodshot. He though he saw his hometown once or twice, but they were some other small towns looking like spreading shining webs in the darkness stealing over the ground.

He heard his teeth clacking from cold when the rain finally stopped, and there was nothing but night around their small airship and stars above them. Charles breathed in the humid coldness of the air; before them, up ahead, the vast blackness widened over the myriad of lights of human towns. Charles turned his head, unable to hold back the rush of joy:

“We’re close already!”

Shaw answered him with a measly smile barely touching his lips, nothing like his morning self-confident smirk.

The ground rose steadily; there were rocks underneath now, and Charles thought he felt the smell of fire ahead. If he could, he would accelerate but there was nothing he could do. He tried spinning several handles and leverages right after Erik flew away; it only made the engine cough and spit more blackish smoke out.

It was not long they had to fly, though. Charles saw the castle, a bizarre black silhouette on the star-spangled deep blue sky; Raven was waiting for their arrival. The castle moved slowly, its pipes tossing Raven’s red sparkles in the air every now and then. Charles smiled in anticipation of her warm cozy crackling.

Right until he realized he had no idea how to land the airship. He swirled on his seat, looking at Shaw, wide-eyed.

“What,” the warlock asked, his face transforming from relaxed to horrified in an instant.

“Do you know how to land?”

“What?!”

“Do you know how to land!” Charles yelped. “I don’t know what to do!”

The warlock shook his head feverishly, as flabbergasted as Charles. He was clinging to the backrest of Charles’s seat, a sparkle of panic to his eyes.

The castle grew bigger every second, and Charles started turning and pulling on every button or handle he could see. There was nothing that helped; the airship buzzed steadily, not even an inkling of it turning off.

Their cries synchronized when a hole appeared in the center of the castle. Charles has always believed it to be something like its mouth; he would never have thought it actually was a back door.

The mouth swallowed them easy as a fly. In a bright flask, there was light, and warmth, and something crushing loudly. The engine died out in a cloudlet of indignantly black smoke.

The first thing Charles saw was Raven’s trembling shadows on the walls that were closed by red curls and worried eyes.

“Charles!” Sean grabbed him by the shoulders and embraced so hard his ribs cracked. “Where have you been, Raven said you were to arrive hours ago! Heavens, are you hurt?”

Charles shook his head, stupid smile spreading on his face.

“I’m glad we’re home.”

“That’s a mess you’ve made. You could enter less dramatically next time, I don’t know, using the door maybe?” Sean mirrored his smile and looked at the parts of wall lying all around the hall. He stuttered when his eyes stroke right into Shaw shaking off dust and debris out of his hair and clothes.

“Wait, is that–?” Sean wondered, trying to blink the hallucination away.

“Yep,” Charles confirmed.

“It can’t be!”

“But it’s him.”

“You two, I’m right here,” Shaw coughed, rubbed his chilled hands and pointed at Raven gleaming golden eyes in her fireplace. “Now why don’t we all sit down around that cute little demon over there and have a cup of something hot. By the way, anyone knows when Erik returns?”

 

Raven crackled snugly, dozing off, hot coals glittering red around her. Semi-transparent smoke twisted in curls before disappearing up the chimney.

A shadow leaked through the wall, never bothering to open the door, shaking drowsiness off the demon of fire; invisible paws left inky three-toed footprints on the wooden floor. Blood dripped warmly and nauseously in thick heavy droplets.

Raven hid in her ashes, watching the shadow, wide-eyed and yellowish with scare.

It swooshed up the stairs and past Charles’s room, and he woke up, sitting upright on his bed, chest so tight it was hard to make a breath.

“Erik?”

The quiet rustle was heard following the steps moving away, and a soft clack of the door closed behind them. Charles reached for his boots in the dark ignoring the socks or lacing, and hurriedly lit a candle-end with stiff fingers.

There was a single dark-gray feather lying in the pool of still-warm blood on the corridor floor, long elastic barb with tender afterfeather. Charles picked it up by the shaft carefully, disbelieving a thing of metal could be this delicate, and brought it closer to his eyes but the feather instantly crumbled into dust in his touch.

A low dull thud from a room up the corridor. He gasped, horrified, and hastened forward, keeping his hand on the rough wooden walls, listening to the sounds of the sleeping castle: soft snoring in Sean’s room, nervous upset burble in Sebastian’s.

Pained breath in Erik’s, and a set of gory avian footprints leading to his door. Charles lingered, afraid of touching the handle, of what he could find inside. The candle flames glinted and trembled over the surface of mahogany door, throwing bizarre shadows on the walls around.

“Erik–”

The door gave with a creak; Charles clutched the handle, trying to stop shivering, and peeked inside. It was pitch dark, small glistening sparks here and there, something reflecting the light of a humble candle. He raised it higher, staring into blackness of shimmering rattletraps, recognizing Erik’s amulets and charms. The room went forth in a tunnel screwed into soil and forking into two caverns up ahead, with toys, handles of daggers, jewelries, figurines and bloodstained feathers sticking to its earthy walls.

Something flashed brighter when he passed by; Charles glanced into a small mirror catching a glimpse of a young face looking back at him, no wrinkles, brown hair – his eighteen-year-old self. He paid it no more attention, sensing the gust of wind ahead, sucking him into one of the caverns.

At the end of it, a huge feathery beast was lying. He breathed heavily, air coming out hissing from the pierced lungs, a blur of blood spreading over his side.

“Erik?” Charles asked freezing several feet away, unable to make himself come closer. “Erik!”

The martlet exhaled; something bubbled ghastly in his chest, and Charles shuddered, feeling the waves of pain coming from him.

“Are you hurt? Erik, let me treat your wound.”

“Don’t– come– closer,” the beast gave out a choked growl. Its feathers rustled in the invisible wind.

“I want to help,” Charles pleaded, taking a tiny step forward and raising a candle higher to see the wound on the martlet’s body.

He shuffled, turning around; Charles startled by the sight of inhuman grey face covered in metal scales, sharp fangs grinning in a terrible smirk.

“It’s– too late–”

“Erik, wait!”

Iron martlet raised taking the whole space of the cavern with his huge wings and howled, a strangled and agonizing cry. The tunnel collapsed behind him, and he swished his wings, rush of air nearly knocking Charles down. Feathers whiffled, caught in the wind sending them into Charles’s face, and thrashed about the cavern. He covered his face, hot tingle in the corners of his eyes, left alone before the utter darkness.

 

Water rushed loudly; Charles sat on his bed, exhausted, heart racing and sweat thickly covering his face. It was a relief Erik was finally home; whole and unwounded it appeared while he managed to take a bath on his own.

Charles swung his legs off the bed feeling broken. He couldn’t dream of falling asleep today, so he could just as well check on everyone else in the castle.

Freshening and tidying himself up, Charles gazed into the mirror intently looking for the evidence he was returning to his younger self. Shaw said ‘soon’, but how soon? And could it be the warlock was just amusing himself messing with him, giving Charles false hope?

Erik splashed in the bathroom, grumpy irate noises. Charles went down the stairs to greet never-sleeping Raven and found her in a deep lazy slumber. The castle was standing still, and he walked out of it into the wasteland, where somber morning was smoldering among the high peaks, bleak blue haze misting in lowlands.

Turnip Hank was beside him in an instant, hopping happily, dew growing dense on his wetting blue furs.

“Morning, Turnip Hank,” Charles greeted, giving the scarecrow a gentle look.

He turned around to observe steam exiting through the tiny window of the bathroom. The day ahead was to be difficult for all of them: they had to think about what to do with the two exits Madame Snow has found that were surely watched by several platoons each.

While Erik was sleeping off, Charles and Sean took care of the airship still inside, throwing it out of the castle. It buzzed and vibrated, its massive wings getting in the way. It was unexpectedly heavy, Charles learned; he managed to succeed only by accidentally starting it into its last flight. Sean laughed, observing the zigzags and bends it demonstrated low above the ground and how it finally landed, tearing tufts of grass and small wildflowers. Shaw didn’t participate; he took a pipe somewhere from his vast pockets and smoked it leisurely, placid smile on his face.

“Maybe I should feed you with a spoon?” Charles grunted, sweeping away the debris left by their yesterday crash, annoyed with the warlock’s withdrawal from their common activity.

“You are too kind,” Shaw sighed, refilling his pipe with a meek face. “Regrettably, I have to decline your general offer. See, I’m old but not yet disabled.”

“You ever listen to yourself, Shaw?” Charles asked in disbelief.

“It’s Sebastian for you,” the ex-warlock waved a dismissive hand at him. “People of my age have the perk of sitting around all day in their chairs doing nothing, especially now, when I was cogently asked to give up my sorcery.”

“Look who’s talking about chair days,” Charles rumbled. “What do you know of being an old man!”

Shaw raised his eyebrows playing offended.

“How old do you think I am, dear boy? Neither people nor wizards live this long. Not on their own, without a powerful source of energy, at least,” Sebastian paused, his face growing dreamy. “Like a young heart, full of talent and magic–”

“Like Erik’s heart,” Charles snapped; that was not a question. Something in the warlock’s voice suggested he was not using the phrase as a euphemism.

Shaw flashed him a wicked smile, all his sharp face glowing in content.

“Smart kid. I see why he likes you.”

Charles turned away, feeling emptiness absorbing him on the inside. Erik’s heart; why do they all keep talking about it – Sebastian, Madame Snow? He shook his head, choosing not to continue this way of thinking. Erik _had_ a heart, Erik _was_ a human, despite what his dream showed him tonight.

Erik went down after noon, high heels clacking on the wooden staircase. He was surprisingly affable and cheerful; Charles caught himself staring at that toothy smile of his shamelessly.

“Brethren, we’ll be moving in several days!” Erik announced, embracing Charles with one hand and Sean with the other. “That’s something that needs preparations, but all will be done soon. Until then, Raven, keep the castle walking all the time, no stops allowed.”

“Eh,” the demon griped. “Why am I the one doing all dirty work?”

But Erik didn’t listen already, smiling into Charles’s eyes.

“How was your trip?”

“Better with time,” Charles shrugged and continued, suddenly remembering: “By the way, that was a nice disguise you had back at Madame Snow’s. I would have never guessed you if the real Emperor didn’t show up.”

“Actually, Madame Snow saw right through me, I’m sure,” Erik shook his head with mock sorrow. “Anyway, it was you who pushed an idea into my head.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Remember the castling you feinted the last chess game we had?”

Charles brightened.

“I am good, am I not,” he said, narrowing his eyes dryly.

“You are,” Erik answered, staring at him. There was no irony hidden in his tone.


	8. The Moving of the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik shows the way into the secret garden

Erik disappeared shortly that day, and when he came back, a secretive smile was glued to his lips. Charles watched him with narrowed eyes: the wizard was definitely up to something, yet he refused to tell anything. At night, he called Charles for the game of chess, which was a nice change after all day of cleaning.

The ritual repeated the next day, and the day after that. Erik went out or disappeared in his room before dinner, and then he came out and engaged Charles in a game or two of chess, during which he made a bad habit of staring at him for no apparent reason. It was devastatingly confusing and irritating due to Charles’s own reaction: blushing, full-body burning and the need to air himself out for a while on the cold air to cool his head down and get rid of some particularly unnecessary thoughts.

Charles woke up unusually late the day Erik finally planned for the moving. The weather was bright and calm, the skies free of clouds with only small edging on the horizon. Charles admired the spring-to-summer warmth standing on one of the balconies of the castle, tying his fast-growing hair in a short pony-tail and thinking of the swelling necessity to have a haircut.

Observing the hustle and bustle from the height was amusing. Erik was drawing something around the castle, numerous semicircles, magical lines and symbols in white paint over green grass. From up above, it looked unusual and mysterious, like pretty anything magic-related. Charles tried to memorize the symbols but they looked all the same to him: some circles, some triangles, some hemispheres.

Erik saw him on the balcony and waved a greeting hand.

“Charles, morning. We’re moving today!”

“I can see that,” Charles shouted back, fond smile cracking his lips.

Erik was jacket-less, admirable in his white shirt with rolled up sleeves. Sean collected stones ahead of him, clearing the way for the lines to wriggle and wander over the grass.

The wizard gathered them all in the hall downstairs, beside Raven’s fireplace, and sat them on the single table.

“All of you keep still, the spell is complicated,” Erik said, drawing similar symbols in chalk on the wooden floor of the room with confident and accurate moves. It looked as a web of entangled lines to Charles; how was Erik able to make sense of them?

Charles watched, enchanted, as the wizard raised from the floor, nodded a content head and put a piece of chalk into his pocket absent-mindedly.

“Come on, Raven,” he said, nearing the demon with a scoop in his hands.

“Careful, careful,” Raven wheezed uncomfortably, crawling toward the scoop in slow dragging through the ashes. Charles, never seeing the demon actually move, watched with growing curiosity; so she wasn’t glued to her fireplace after all. “Don’t be so rush, you know if anything happens–”

“Come on, come on,” Erik kept nudging her while she settled herself heavily into the scoop. Firewood cracked menacingly and the fire went out as soon as she had left her usual place.

Erik held the scoop perfectly still and horizontal with an expression of extreme concentration on his face. Tightly pursed lips and furrowed brows, focused gleam in dark-gray eyes; magic was flowing around him almost tangibly, Charles could feel light prickling on his skin.

“What a gifted boy,” Sebastian sighed lightly besides him, not once leaving the pipe off his hands.

The magical symbols on the floor glowed as soon as Erik stepped on them. Gusts of air rushed from below, ruffling his hair and flapping his clothes. The wizard raised his free hand to keep balance, or maybe the magical formula involved gestures. Raven bared her teeth, growing instantly, colors switching through her flames in all shades of reds and blues, setting in deep purple, sparkles scattering around and floating in midair around the room. Charles could feel he was soaring between the sparkles, as weightless as them.

The hall widened with a loud pop, beams rising higher and growing into the ceiling, a window appearing on the wall and a spare room opposite the stairs. Charles could hear similar pops and bangs coming from above; probably, some rooms were being rearranged. With a tinge of alarm, Charles recognized an old couch – the same was standing in the living room of his father’s house – and a set of chairs, a small picture hanging on the wall and even the window, the same window that used to show the small peaceful street of Charles’s hometown. Another window appeared above the door in a small semicircle, casting bright sunshine inside.

The wind inside the room calmed down and the sparkles darkened, turning into regular ashes, covering the floor in thin layer of dust. Erik carefully walked over to the fireplace, the only thing in the room that didn’t change.

“The moving is over,” he said after returning Raven to her place, voice slightly quivering.

Charles barely made it in time to catch him, sinking to the floor wearily. The wizard’s skin felt cold and moist to his touch.

“The spell is tough,” Erik mumbled under his nose, making an apology. “It’ll pass in a minute.”

He came to his senses only in several hours though; Charles and Sean were investigating the castle in meantime. No drastic changes were made except for several rooms that Charles believed he knew very well. It seemed Erik copied the layout and furnishing of the rooms as they were in Charles’s house connected to the hat shop.

The window outside showed his hometown; Charles was sure if he went out, he would step on the pavement of the street he knew since childhood. Neither he nor Sean dared to open the door without Erik’s permission though.

A train passed nearby, tossing the black smoke out into the air, covering the view of the street. The window sill trembled under Charles’s fingers.

“How can it be?”

“I hoped you liked it,” Erik said quietly overhead, leaning heavily on Charles staring outside the window. “They were selling the shop, and I thought you’d enjoy the idea to make it ours. You could sell hats, or flowers, or books, or whatever you wanted there.”

Charles shivered, feeling tears hot in the corners of his eyes. Did Erik make this just for him?

“There’s some clothes I bought for you in your room but that can wait. Let’s go,” Erik said, brushing Charles’s sleeve. “I have a surprise for you.”

“More surprise?” Charles asked, dumbfounded, his knees weak and face feeling hot.

Erik smiled just as secretively as he did all week.

“We have a _patio_!” Sean shouted from below, jumping under the bright warm sun and spreading his arms. “Is that a shop?”

He vanished in the outbuilding Charles recognized with a fleeting tinge in his heart, but Erik closed the door before them and turned the handle. The mark colors changed from yellow to purple.

“Charles, come. This is something I’ve made for you.”

He flung the door open, and bright colors pushed through it inside, falling onto the floor in multicolor lines. Charles went down the stairs, unable to tear his eyes away.

The high plateau before his eyes was softly-green, flowers growing all over it. White, yellow, pink, red and lilac; everything mixed in a single gentle symphony, festive and vivid. Small lakes cutting through the meadow melted under the sun, glistening tiny splashes scattering beams around. White clouds floated above and below, reflected in the calm water, plunging and raising from it, covering the distant bluish mountains in hazy veil; flowers hung over the lakes, jiggling their corollas, dipping light delicate petals into blue and white.

The grass rustled under light wind, flower buds swayed greetingly, inviting to stroll around the fairy-tale lea.

“It’s my secret garden,” Erik said to Charles in quiet whisper, afraid of destroying the magic of this place.

He offered Charles a hand to lean onto and walked him forward slowly. Charles felt Erik glancing at him all the time and couldn’t get rid of a silly blush on his face, not yet fully recovered to look back at him.

“Is this your magic?” he asked just to break the silence that started crawling up his neck in a familiar prickling sensation, turning his ears crimson. “It’s amazing.”

“This place doesn’t need any magic,” Erik’s voice broke with a genuine tender smile. “Just maybe a little, to keep flowers from wilting.”

They stopped at the shore of a large lake, Charles absorbing colors around him with greedy eyes. The shadows of the clouds ran over the meadow, covering it in darker shades of emerald green.

The flowers were magical despite what Erik said; Charles could feel power and youth flowing through them, bright and calm, filling his body to the brim. He rubbed his cheek, feeling no wrinkles on it, tucked a strand of brown curly hair behind his ear, not even trying to wonder how it was possible. Here, in Erik’s garden, anything was imaginable.

“Charles.”

He turned to Erik’s voice, feeling slight trembling in his hands.

“I feel like I have seen this place before,” he confessed. “Isn’t that a miracle?”

Erik held out his hand.

“Come, there’s more I want to show you.”

He led him up a small hill and stopped at the top, looking down onto something small below them.

“Look.”

There was a house made of yellowish brick in the meadow. It was standing on the shore of the long lake cascading down from the hill they were standing on; a small water mill clacked quietly with its paddles. The house was neat and toy, feeling somehow familiar, too.

“It’s my hideaway,” Erik said in a low husky voice. “I spent all my childhood here. It’s my mother’s house. If you like it, you can come whenever you want.”

Charles kept silent, unable to find the words. It was astounding, Erik suddenly giving away some of his secrets he never wanted to spill. This small little moment between them meant more than all the time they’ve spent together, he thought.

It was scary, feeling abruptly so close to Erik; Charles’s heart pounded in his chest, the eerie sense to the secret garden and Erik’s openness and vulnerability making it all seem like one of his dreams. He clutched his hands into fists, trying to fight the thought that Erik would disappear as soon as they make another step.

“Charles, do you like it? Do you like it here?” Erik asked, nervousness shaking his voice. He took both of Charles’s hands and squeezed them tightly, eyes wetly gleaming.

He drew Charles closer and embraced him, hugging so hard he could barely breathe; there was nothing left but to hug him in return. Broad back, strong shoulders, warm chest; the uneasy thoughts disappeared. Charles closed his eyes, feeling secure, and calm, and at home.

“Yes,” Charles whispered, burying his face into Erik’s neck, breathing in his scent, so warm and dear. “It’s perfect.”

He didn’t know how long they stood there, Erik nudging his nose in Charles’s hair, his breath warm and light. But there was something that Charles needed to know; it tightened in his chest for some time, and he knew now was the time to ask.

“Erik,” he finally dared to break the silence. “Tell me everything. I want to help you and I don’t care what you have done. I don’t care if you’re turning into a monster, I know there’s something that can be done, please, tell me–”

He stuttered, overflown with emotion, dry sob escaping his lips. Erik pulled back and took him by the shoulders, looking into his eyes.

“I just want you to be safe and happy,” he said, soft smile curling on his lips and in his eyes, so tender it was painful to see. Gentleness floated between them in the air, and Charles was suffocating from its bittersweet taste. “I’ll make sure you are.”

“And you? You’re not leaving me, are you? You’re not going to disappear?”

Erik was silent, a bitterer and less sweet smile tormenting his lips.

“I want to help you. I am worthless and I have never been good-looking but–”

“Charles! Charles, you are lovely!”

Charles winced, withdrawing from Erik’s hands, feeling himself growing familiarly powerless and weak, hunching with pain straining his back again.

“I don’t have anything to lose, Erik,” he said in a calm and unexpectedly croaky voice. “It’s just you.”

Erik sighed and turned away, examining the mountains far away. Charles looked for the signs of hurt or anger in his face but the wizard lifted his hand sharply, asking him to keep quiet. His eyes narrowed, digging into the horizon; there was something alien there, something that wasn’t supposed to violate the calm tenderness of this place.

In a split second, Charles heard it, too. Heavy swish of cut air. Low rumbling of huge engines. Sun pushing off the metal polished wings.

The large battle airships.

“Dammit,” Erik swore, his restless gaze glued to the heavily swishing wings. “Why’s that flying here? They got here in their hunt for people’s lives–”

“Is that ours or enemy’s?”

“What’s the difference,” Erik gritted through his teeth, coming closer and circling a protective hand around Charles’s waist. “Look at all the bombs– They’re all murderers.”

He raised a hand and swung it sharply in midair, lips pursed into a thin angry line. Charles staggered,seeing through Erik’s eyes.

_A glistening sheathing with rivets, a long narrow corridor, rusty metal and small round windows on both sides. Whirling, swinging, revolving mechanisms, a bridge with fragile railing, the guards of masked shadows, and there it was, the control panel, something he had been looking for. Some sensors, indicators, switches; a number of plugs he pulled out of their sockets with his power, and the bulbs started glowing alarmingly red at once, the indicator arrows jumped back and forth under protective glass in vain attempt to stabilize the airship. Something froze, crankshafts and relays stopping dead, the deafening siren howled, and the huge wings halted, ceasing their rhythmical flapping and cutting through the air. Someone ran along the lower bridge, the shadows rushed around looking for damage to fix, preventing the airship crash._

Charles shook his head, getting rid of the delusion. Just now, was he looking at everything with Erik’s eyes, through his power?

Sebastian was right. What marvelous gifts he had.

Erik’s raised hand trembled; he dropped it hastily, trying to hide from Charles’s eyes, but the pain bubbling on the edge of the wizard’s mind was too strong to remain concealed.

“What did you do?” he asked, eyeing Erik’s lowered hand. It was shuddering convulsively, starting to get covered into black metal scales, catching sunspots and sending them in flaresflouncingover the lea.

“I just tinkered a little, it’s nothing,” Erik said carelessly, satisfied smile on his lips.

“Erik!”

Another airship popped out from over the hill they came from; Charles recoiled, impressed by the size of the machinery on board.

“Oh, it seems they’re onto us,” Erik cackled amusedly, a worried frown between his eyebrows giving away his real emotions.

The airship was spitting out the flock of flying monsters; Charles remembered he saw these in one of his dreams, transparent wings, sharp small teeth, nasty character.

Erik grabbed him by the shoulders and turned them around before Charles could grasp the situation and decide what to do next.

“Run!” he ordered, dragging Charles along by both hands. His shirt crackled on his back, black wings tearing through; the skin on his arms was swiftly covering in warm metal feathering. “Move, move, move!”

They soared over the green grass and flowery meadow, over the blue and white lakes, over small fluffy clouds; Charles ran, pushing from the air like that first time several months ago, but this time much faster, heart racing from effort and panic.

The entrance to the castle they had went through advanced rapidly. The meadow lay in colored green and soft red patches around it.

“Run to the door!” Erik shouted to him; Charles barely heard the words, only the swishing of the wind loud in his ears.

“Don’t let go!” Charles managed to cry out before Erik relinquished his hold and soared higher, turning around to face the drifters.

Charles was falling fatally, the wizard’s power directing him straight into the door that opened to let him through. He fell onto the stone steps, hurting his elbow and knees badly. The door slammed behind his back and the doorknob turned to yellow to let in Sean with bright smile on, his face transforming into concerned wonder at once.


	9. If This Isn’t Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Air raids, Charles discovers his power and Erik is in time to save the Castle

Erik didn’t show up that night, and he didn’t come home the whole week, either. Or maybe he did; Charles could sense the smell of burned steel in his room when he woke up in the morning. Still, it could be the aftertaste of his dreams: there, he saw Erik in his martlet form. He dreamt of bright yellow eyes glowing maliciously, turned upon his enemies, and sharp bared fangs. Erik looked more like a ferocious beast in these dreams, and much less like a human.

Days were full of dizzying anxiety. Charles was restless and worried himself to death; not even the dark color painting his hair salt and pepper instead of silvery he had grown used to pleased him all that much. Nor the wrinkles sometimes completely vanishing from his skin made him happy.

“Don’t get so worked up for Erik,” Sean cheered him. “Before you came, he was gone for weeks on end.”

Charles smiled mirthlessly.

He caught a glimpse of Erik two weeks later; the wizard was already at the door, leaving, turning the knob black mark up and swishing through it, changing into iron martlet on the run. From that day on, Charles started keeping watch every night until he managed to catch Erik by the sleeve several days later. Erik looked at him, surprised for someone still up at this hour. He had burns looking painful on his hands and neck; Charles grimaced, feeling the buzzing aching on his own skin.

Erik smiled, watching Charles softly, and raised his hand, careful not to scare him off. Charles shivered from calloused fingers on his cheek, a raw smile cracking his lips. He could feel Erik’s warmth coming from his chest, and that made him lean closer just to grasp empty air.

He didn’t manage to utter a single word, the wizard vanishing again for a small eternity.

 

Air raids rolled over the far side of the province, airships barely visible low above the horizon, blurred and mingled with the clouds. In the small town, life was quiet and peaceful, the news about war fearful but still distant, and only Erik’s absence making it tangible.

Charles peeked in every room in the renewed castle, and found one stuffed with books up to the ceiling. He remembered Erik’s suggestion; it was a matter of several days to turn the hat shop into a small cozy bookstore. The flow of customers was poor; Charles brought a deep armchair to the anteroom and sat around all day long, swallowing book after book. Back in his days as a hatter, he always liked reading but never had enough time, books laying around in his room neglected. These days, he finally indulged in reading till his eyes went red and sore.

Shaw wandered around the castle, still doing nothing. As days passed, all of them got used to Sebastian hanging around, having nowhere else to go or nothing to do. It was somehow even placatory having someone as adept in magic when Erik wasn’t around.

“So Raven, is it? Tell me, what’s Charles’s gift?”

The conversation happened one of these days, late at night, after the demon of fire finally stopped sizzling and hissing as soon as Shaw approached her.

Charles was sitting in his room, besieged with books all around him, waiting for everyone to get to bed to start his night watch for Erik. He jumped up a foot when Sebastian’s words sounded right in his head, close and clear like he was sitting in the same room. It didn’t occur to him he was listening to the quiet sounds of the castle. Today, the air raid siren was heard for the first time they were in town, not _for_ the town but still. Shaw said, Madame Snow had agents searching high and low for the castle but Erik hid them well enough to stop worrying for the time being. Charles was tensed up all day, barely able to concentrate on the book in his hands, skimming page after page without actually getting any of it.

“Gift?” Raven repeated distractedly, rearranging the firewood to comfy herself. “He doesn’t have magic.”

Shaw smirked knowingly. Charles listened in surprise and shook his head, wondering how it was possible for him to eavesdrop on Raven and Shaw while sitting here, in his room.

“Oh yes, he does. I have seen what he did to Snow’s attack. Erik should’ve told you, no? He brushed it off like it was nothing. And she is the most powerful telepath I know,” Sebastian snapped his fingers.

“You suggest–” the fire crackled under demon’s weight shifting in the ashes.

Charles strained his ears, not bothering to notice he clenches down on the book he was reading with his knuckles going white. They both kept quiet for some time, and he presumed Shaw nodded to Raven’s unfinished question. The temptation to go peek was unbearable; Charles berated himself for being noisy when the demon finally broke the silence.

“We should tell him,” Raven said quietly.

“But he knows,” Sebastian chuckled shortly. “He listens to us right now, don’t you, Charles?”

Shaw’s words rang in his head and made him start back, tripping over the pile of books he had been leaning on and fall down with a dull thud.

Ever since that day he was watching through Erik’s eyes, the doubts assailed him, the hints too strong to ignore. Still, maybe he shouldn’t have eavesdropped. Maybe it was better to hide inside his head and stop the attempts to understand what the hell was going on with him. Charles blushed and lowered his head, hiding eyes despite there was no one in the room to appreciate the pang of conscience.

“I know you’ve been reading my mind just now,” the warlock continued in a careless tone. “I’ve known Emma for too long; I recognize the feeling. Don’t hide away, won’t help. Better come down and join us, will you?”

There was nothing left to do; Charles raised from the floor, brushed his pants and went down, as slowly as he could. Raven watched him, her eyes wide, then shifted her no less astounded gaze to Sebastian.

“Hello, our little telepath,” Shaw greeted him with a puff of his pipe. “Who would’ve known you’d turn out to be one, eh?”

The room was full of transparent smoke, collecting in small lakes under the ceiling. Charles plumped on a sofa, tucking his legs under him and exposing his side to Raven’s warmth.

“How can this be?” he said perplexedly. “I have never had anything like this in me. Will I turn into a diamond, too?”

Shaw had several slow drags, forming his answer.

“Who knows. Magic awakens in everyone differently. The time for yours has come, maybe because you wanted to protect Erik very much–” the ex-warlock smiled teasingly and cocked his head, leaning closer to Charles: “You can try and reach out for him right now.”

“What.”

Charles needed several moments to catch up. Shaw nodded, smoke gathering in volumes around him before soaring higher and jamming under the ceiling.

“That should be possible, at least if he’s not too far away,” Sebastian stared up at him. “And I bet he isn’t. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

“What are you talking about,” Charles batted mechanically, trying to sound unruffled.

He was blushing to the roots of his hair. Shaw’s guess was outrageous and right on target, something Charles has been refusing to admit to himself. He sighed: despite his hot and strong resistance, he could hardly pretend Sebastian was wrong any longer.

Neither could he fool Shaw. Raven cackled contentedly, and Charles shot her an icy glance that should’ve sent shivers down her spine if she wasn’t a demon of fire. It was no secret for anyone, was it?

“Sighing away like that at the mention of his name; if this isn’t love, then I don’t know what is,” Sebastian said, fiddling his pipe amusedly. He clearly found it entertaining teasing Charles any time he had the opportunity but this time, there was something different in his face, smile less of its usual wickedness. “Otherwise, why would he visit your room first thing every time he gets home?”

Charles felt his heart skip a beat and skin cover in goose bumps; it was not his imagination, the smell of burnt metal in his room. Why didn’t Erik wake him once? And the strange dreams, maybe it was Erik’s presence that sent Charles flying on his wing through fire and death? That should be the telepathic connection that deepens with every dream he has.

Not something he should tell Sebastian about.

“Not very subtle, are you?” Charles muttered, shifting in his place uncomfortably. “Who even says something like that out of the blue.”

Still, he closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on Erik and reach out for him. Outside the room, there was dark void, resounding, howling poignantly in his ears; Charles set his jaw, stretching his mind further, calling out for the wizard. But there was no sign of Erik anywhere he could reach, only heavy darkness pressing on him with a suffocating blanket.

“Nothing,” he finally sighed, opening his eyes and feeling drained and sick all at once. “Not a sign.”

“I see,” the warlock shrugged. “You’re still not trained, but it was worth a shot. But try to keep your mind to yourself, especially with those who can feel you poking around,” he scowled, not sounding half as stern as his words suggested.

He was restuffing his pipe for another long lazy smoke. Charles sighed, feeling too tired to keep watch today. Maybe, it was better to have a sleep at least once in a while.

“Sure,” he said crustily, standing up and climbing the stairs, promising himself to rummage in Shaw’s thoughts as soon as the occasion turns up. “Good night, Sebastian.”

“Night,” Shaw chuckled, jauntily rocking on his chair. It creaked nastily, getting on Charles nerves.

 

Dirty smoke dispersed, and the field stood out in the gaps, dark, covered with moving, swarming mass. The troops were advancing; they marched and crouched, their uniform smeared with mud. They went ahead, and fire flowers of exploding bombs bloomed over them and around them, eating away the dusty dips in the ground, breaking neat, orderly ranks.

The airships were up on the wing; they growled, dodging the columns of black smoke, the flickering shadows blinking convulsively on their metal sides.

Iron martlet spread his wings; they were getting bigger each time, Erik thought absent-mindedly, eyeing the closest airship with streamlined wings. It took a long acceleration run before jumping high, above the clouds, where air was not mixed with earth and screams, free of pain.

He glided down, no need to move his wings, catching up with one of the airships. He was in air for so long, he got tired and, despite the sensation of metal underneath him, he could do nothing to stop it.

The martlet waved his wings lazily and closed his eyes, letting the first rays of the day warm him; on the east, the sun was rising, and the clouds up here were painted pinks, yellows and oranges floating in the vast deep blue.

 

Charles woke up to the bustle outside the windows. The town was in a hurry; frightened of yesterday’s close air raid, people fled their homes.

They took everything they could bring with them. Those on vehicles dragged all their transportable goods and chattels; others were carrying the most valuable and necessary things. Charles watched in amazement a woman carrying an antique chair, holding it by its legs and embracing like a child.

He got up with a throbbing sensation in his head; yesterday’s revelations were tough, and the dream about Erik was no better. _Better stay in bed today_ , he decided, climbing down the stairs for a cup of morning tea to bring with himself. _Just for a couple of hours, maybe–_

The door was open, yellow mark up, Sean standing in the doorway and looking disbelievingly at him. Charles felt worry curl in rings inside his chest right away.

“What is it, Sean?”

The boy pointed his finger behind his back, at the vague silhouette behind the door. Charles choked on a breath.

“Mother?”

The woman looked at him for a split second before her face went limp. She spread her hands, mouth falling open to form a perfect ‘o’ before producing a deafening, heart-breaking cry.

“Charles!” she exclaimed, darting forward. “Charles, my dear!”

She was beautiful as usual, slender and delicate, noble paleness on her cheeks, always fashionably dressed and a hat up to the knocker – the habit she got from her late husband, Charles’s father. She was emotional, too, something Charles never remembered in his mother.

He sat her on a couch and poured them both a cup of tea. He knew his mother was more of a coffee person but she would also like something spirituous, and he wasn’t going to indulge that habit.

“Darling, I’ve been looking for you, why did you disappear?” she yammered. “And you’ve aged, you look so old! This is all my fault, oh my darling!”

Charles’s head wouldn’t stop spinning to the whirl of thoughts that surrounded him. He barely made it listening to mother’s bubbling. As soon as she calmed down, the conversation went smoother. It was nice to know about Alex and Scott, who both found themselves partners (“Both men, now Charles, my only hopes to have grandchildren are on you!”) and about Kurt (“Charles, he’s wonderful, so nice he’s rich! We live in Genosha now, and we go to court. You should come live with us, see the Empress – she’s a real woman of fashion!”). Them moving to the capital soothed Charles’s conscience: it was much calmer there, no bombing around. Not while the headquarters were located at the Emperor’s residence.

After that, they ran out of topics for conversation, something Charles was bothered with for a long time living under the same roof with her. Now, it was a sign to wave her off. She didn’t seem to mind one bit.

“My car’s actually waiting, I have to run now. Take care of yourself, Charles, we’ll catch up next time!”

Charles looked after her car disappearing among the fleeing townspeople, trying to grasp the feelings storming inside him. Why would she come? How did she know he was here? There was one particular thought that he couldn’t get rid of: mother feeling guilty, her face and gestures and, most importantly, her thoughts crying out to him: _I’m sorry!_

She had a lot of things Charles believed she could be sorry for; she was lousy as a mother, concerned only with finding herself a new husband rather than raising her sons. She was no better at keeping a hat shop, her only mastered ability in delivering new fashion trends. Her guilt however was different than usual.

He entered the shop and closed the door with tinkling bell. There would hardly be any customers today, he thought locking it and lowering the curtains on the windows.

It was not until he was on the way to Raven’s hall that the sediment of mother’s guilt caught up with him together with an image of the purse she left behind. It was something wrong inside it; Charles rushed forward and tumbled through the door right at the moment when Shaw caught a black, serpentine creature with bulging eyes and long forked tongue by the tail.

“A peeping bug, huh,” he mused in his usual tone, half-lidded eyes watching the wriggling spell squeezed in his fingers. “The oldest trick in the book, Emma. It’s all yours, Raven!”

The warlock threw it into the fire, and Raven swallowed the spell, gurgling and spitting out a cloud of gray saturnine smoke. She turned morbidly purple at once, coughing and groaning. Charles stood by her, panting.

“That was–”

“Snow’s spell,” Shaw searched for something in the purse and pulled out a cigar in a flashy yellow-and-red cover. “Oh, that’s a good one for a change!”

He smoked it unhurriedly, breathing in the heavy puff of smoke. His eyelids quivered, eyes rolling back with pleasure; Charles winced, suspecting the cigar was not just tobacco but probably some drug. Why else would Sebastian savor it with such reverence splayed all over his face?

“She really wants to find us, you know. War’s getting fierce, she needs any pair of hand she can get now, Erik especially. He’s invaluable among metal airships,” Shaw murmured contentedly, nestling on the sofa comfortably and arranging his head on the backrest. “I bought us a couple of hours but if Erik doesn’t come, Raven won’t be able to protect us, not like this. The airships are close.”

Charles listened carefully to the sounds outside, low rumbling on the edge of hearing. He shifted from one foot to the other, heavy lump in his throat making it hard to breathe.

“People are running away. The town will be empty by midnight,” he said, glancing at suffocating Raven. “Would you mind putting out that cigar? It’s stifling.”

“Why deny an old man his pleasures,” Sebastian smirked. The creases around his mouth suggested he knew something he didn’t want to tell Charles and wouldn’t let him find out through his thoughts.

They spent the day near Raven, exhausted with anxiety and gloomy expectations. Airships were hovering over the small town, ready to give birth to multiple bombs. It was a question of when rather than if, and they could no more rely on the demon protecting the castle and everyone inside it. She was obviously sick, and nothing helped, not feeding her up with more firewood, and not fanning, raising clouds of ashes up into the air that was already fusty with Sebastian’s cigar. She didn’t answer to Charles once.

“I can’t get her going,” Charles sighed, dropping on the sofa and wiping his forehead, feeling himself a squirrel on a treadmill. “She’s really weak, I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s getting really hard to breathe.”

“I’ll open the window,” Sean suggested, hopping off his chair. Poor kid was bored to death, stuck inside the castle. He, unlike Charles, couldn’t crouch over books all day long.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Shaw said quietly, cigar’s end glowing in the semi-darkness creeping out of the hall’s corners. It was a strange cigar, how was it possible to be smoked several hours in a row? “Raven won’t be able to keep _them_ out.”

Sean froze; Charles brought him closer, seating on the sofa near himself and embracing by the shoulders; the ominous ‘them’ wafted cold in the air. They knew Snow was after them, and they knew the time was short, but the reminder was still unnerving.

They were knocked out of their stupor by the siren tearing rudely through the hovering silence. They darted closing the doors and lowering curtains on the windows.

“Stay here, I’ll check on the shop!” Charles cried out to Sean, hearing the first rumbling of the bombs falling onto the empty town.

He yanked the castle’s door open, jumped over the threshold and startled at the sight of two huge airships covering the sky of the patio completely with their metal wings painted blinking yellow-and-red underneath. The town was already on fire, sparkles circling down unhurriedly in rapidly warming air.

The street outside the shop was burning, several buildings to the right and left turned into gigantic torches. The one nearest to their shop was surrounded by people trying to extinguish the fire; the others were neglected completely, and fire was slowly moving to the roof of the houses next to it. From that side of the street, swaying and gaining bulky forms, shadows were approaching, turning into black rubber monsters just like those Erik was running from the day they met. These were wearing green imperial uniform as a mockery; they looked human the least.

Charles hid behind the door just in time; it quivered and shook under the pressure of shadows, flat fingers of darkness starting to crawl through the tiniest slots and gaps. He wasn’t sparing a second look; the shop was lost, no doubt. Charles ran through it in dim uneven half-light coming through the glass front door from the town on fire. He snagged the pile of books on the counter with his elbow; they fell to the floor with thick bumps, and the door crashed right after, flying off its hinges, glass shattering and shadows tumbling through in a huddle.

He ran like hell down the corridor and whisked out into the patio when the second wave of bombing covered the town. Charles looked up, seeing the bombs falling down, black and elongated, glistening spiteful red of fuses at their rear.

He saw it; this one was falling in slow motion, growing bigger with every moment, and Charles knew he wouldn’t make in it time through the castle’s door. _Erik_ , he called mentally without realizing it, _Erik!_ It was the end of everything, he knew exactly because he _did_ saw Erik; iron martlet was flickering between the bombs, approaching the one meant for their home, flying besides it spread-eagled over its black surface, his arms embracing it lovingly, dark metal feathers fluttering frantically around him.

“Erik,” Charles mumbled, and the chain of explosions swept through the small town. The ground rattled under his feet, throwing him to the wall. He dropped to his knees, covering face and eyes, smithereens of stone, flinders and debris falling onto him, prickling everywhere they could reach, leaving scratches and bruises. Fire poured down the street, flooding the town into hell, tossing ashes mixed with sparkles into the air.

A long breathless moment later the ground stopped shuddering, and Charles raised his head disbelievingly. Alive? How was it possible? The bomb was falling right into their patio–

He looked up and met the warm gaze of gray eyes, fire dancing on the martlet’s metal feathering. A moment of silence broke between them, Erik’s face distorted with anxiety softening, a crease on his forehead gone.

Erik staggered toward him, reaching out a hand, and Charles rushed into his arms. The fine feathers on his chest were metal but somehow soft as real ones would be. Charles buried his face in Erik’s neck, warm scales scraping lightly onto his skin, and shut his eyes, fencing off the whole world. For this small moment, there were only him and Erik. He smelled of burned flesh and burned steel, Erik’s scent that settled deeply under his skin. Erik’s strong hands, embracing him, pressing him tightly to that warm chest.

Erik touched his chin softly and tilted his head up, looking into his eyes with tender concern. Something curled between them, viscous and sweet, eddying Charles in the maelstrom of deafening, blinding sentiment.

“You okay?”

Charles nodded, the ability to speak still beyond him. He was crushed with anxiety, panic and that last realization of death breathing at the back of his neck, and Erik – Erik being there for him when he called. Shivers ran down his spine from clever fingers insatiably caressing skin on his cheeks, temples, forehead. He wanted to hide in that embrace forever, to know no war and no bombing, for everyone to just let them be.

Erik smiled in relief, taking Charles into his arms possessively. His wings swished powerfully through the hot air; he brought Charles over the threshold of the castle’s door, cutting of the chase of the uniformed rubber shadows, and put him down onto the wooden floor near Raven’s fireplace.

“Raven! Hold on, my friend,” Erik dropped to his knees near the demon; Charles was dizzy from the raw emotion still bubbling in his chest, and he could only see Raven spitting out a shower of sparks, turning to her usual blue-and-red.

The martlet barely fit in the hall, his huge wings taking up all the space. He barely managed to turn around, facing Sebastian perked on the sofa, still clutched into the cigar.

Shaw cracked a smile.

“Well-well, look who’s finally here. Came for a talk, eh? I feel we need a nice long chat.”

“I’d really like I had time to talk to you, Sebastian, but maybe next time. Now, I presume it’s Madame Snow’s message you have?”

The wizard answered with no irritation in his voice, calm, polite and focused. Charles have never seen him like this; he himself barely kept his footing, swaying right and left, legs buckling. He was still feeling the ground trembling after the explosions. It was tough keeping record on what was happening in the room.

Shaw smirked and took a last long drag on his cigar, puffing a cloudlet of foul dirty smoke.

“It’s a promise, then,” he sneered dryly, putting the cigar out on Erik’s palm.

Short pang of pain, the burning end sizzling over metal broke through Charles’s dizziness, bringing him around. He shuddered, looking at those insincere smiles battling with each other.

Erik turned to him, and Charles melted again, soft gleam in gray eyes making him shaking from tip to toe.

“Charles, stay here,” the wizard said, taking him by the shoulders. “Raven’ll protect you now. I’ll see to things outside.”

He came to life only as Erik walked past him to the door, brushing him with his feathers gently. Panic rushed through Charles in waves; he darted after the martlet, clutching into his black wings as tightly as he could, pressing himself flush to his broad back.

“No, Erik, no! Don’t go, don’t leave me,” he pleaded, hiding his burning face into feathers. He felt he’d die if Erik goes through that door now to leave him again.

Probably, his emotions were too strong to be squeezed into his mind alone; Shaw smirked knowingly behind his back and Erik heaved a sigh. He turned around, trying to look Charles in the face.

“Another raid is coming,” he said quietly. “Raven won’t be able to stop that, I need to be outside to protect you.”

“You don’t!” Charles gasped, at a loss for words, thinking feverishly of some way to make Erik stay with him. “Don’t fight. Let’s just run away!”

The martlet shook his head regretfully, determination settling deep in his eyes.

“Why? I’m through running away. Now, I have someone I want to protect,” he smiled, leaning closer, taking away Charles’s hands and clasping them to his metal-covered chest. He gently bumped their foreheads together. “I have you, Charles,” he whispered, and Charles’s heart stopped beating, head going sonant and empty all at once as Erik’s face was so near, his eyes huge and wet and warm–

His lips were hot but haste on Charles’s mouth; he sighed, tiptoeing to lean closer into Erik’s kiss, but he was already gone, a powerful gust of air from his wings ruffling Charles’s hair, sweeping stone smithereens and debris off the patio.

Charles jumped down the stairs, nearly deaf and senseless, the pounding of blood in his ears, to watch iron martlet turning into a tiny purple spark and vanishing into the dark sky. Low clouds were burning vehemently, red and dirty yellow, fire twinkles circling in the infernally hot air.


	10. The Heart of a Fallen Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Happy Ending with everyone surviving and being disenchanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But no worries, another chapter with You Know What is still coming. After all, I did plan the rating for this piece.
> 
> And thank you for leaving kudos and comments.

The air was getting more smothery and hot every passing moment. Charles stared into the sky, entranced, a tangle of thoughts and emotions dizzying him, anguish curling in his chest in slow rings. He was confused and alone, sinking feeling filling him up, tightening in his throat.

The rubber monsters stirred in their corners where Erik’s powerful blow threw them to, and started disentangling from the mess of elastic tentacles, gathering near the castle’s door again. Dull intent was coming from their plain minds that knew a direct order alone, capturing Charles into the despair of it. He glanced around and set his jaw; it was no use standing here, pitying himself for being left behind. There probably was something he could do to help Erik.

He returned back into the castle in a brisk pace and slammed the door behind his back. It has started rattling instantly, rubber shadows taking every attempt to get into the castle. Charles listened on the other side, pressing his ear to the door. He closed his eyes for a moment; Erik was nearby, and he could sense his thoughts, and see through his eyes.

_The glow of fire illuminated the heavy rainy clouds in dark purple, red and ominously yellow. The martlet spread his wings, extending them higher with his magic, making himself heavier to match the airships, to have a chance against them. They were backlighted with the burning town from beneath, bright uneven gleams overlaying rounded metal sides. They knew he was after them, and they were not afraid._

Charles heaved a sigh, opening his eyes. He had his own battle to win down here; rubber creaked over the sturdy wooden door, unable to find its way inside just yet. Raven gleamed clever golden eyes from her fireplace; she was afraid, too, Charles could sense it clearly.

He listened a while longer and turned the handle, green mark up. The window over the door changed from reds and yellows to dark blue, the calm sky over the wasteland, and the rattling stopped. Charles pulled the door open a bit, peeking outside. Fresh breeze breathed in his face, making dark curls waver on his forehead.

It was raining outside the castle, the real castle, perched in the middle of a stony highland far into the wasteland. The small town on the horizon was burning, a glow through the clouds casting reddish glints on the castle’s walls and roofs so it looked like it was made of copper entirely. Charles went out under the rain, feeling weariness settling at the small of his back. Cold and wet; it was a relief after the hellish choking of the town.

He walked to the steep and stopped on its edge, staring into the battle unfolding over the fire, over the burning buildings that collapsed like card houses. There, something was burning, too, and the fire was pouring down in avalanche. Charles strained his eyes; there, amidst the fires of hell, a dark bulky shadow tumbled, a swarm of flying dots surrounding it in an uneven dome.

Even from up where he was, Charles felt pain shooting through Erik’s body when an explosion rocked the airship. The sweeping feeling of flames rolling over the skin; iron martlet roared, bare fangs and long dark claws ripping off the metal sheathing of the ship.

The airship was falling steadily until it exploded again, hitting the ground. Charles forced himself to unclench the fists he didn’t know he was squeezing, leaving dark red crescents of bruises on his palms.

The steady knocking behind his back made Charles turn around. A long streak of warm light was coming through the door of the castle; Turnip Hank hopped nearby, strands of blue fur dark and stuck together under the rain.

He was deep in thought for a short minute; it was the castle Erik wanted to protect. It was for this he wished to sacrifice his life and humanity. Judging on how martlet-like he was today, how heavy he became to battle that airship, the wizard had little time to spare before the transformation would be irreversible.

“Get packed, everyone,” Charles said firmly, returning into the warm hall. “We’re moving.”

He didn’t doubt Raven would start arguing, and she did.

“You crazy or what,” the demon said dryly, hugging her firewood closer. “What’s on your mind? Snow’s gonna find us if we move.”

Charles stood before her, crossing arms over his chest.

“She already did, didn’t she? So it doesn’t matter.”

Raven frowned, growing darker red than usual. Charles sensed doubt coming from her mixed with uneasiness and pain; she probably felt some of Erik’s wounds, as well, being tied so tightly with their contract.

“I can’t leave the fireplace,” she retorted. “The castle, I don’t know what happens to it–”

Charles didn’t know either but that didn’t matter now. All better than be caught by Snow’s shadows and experience another of her cerebral attacks.

“We’re moving, and that’s final,” he growled menacingly, adding a mental prod to his words to make his point clear. “Erik’s going to fight as long as we stay in the castle. I’m not going to sit around doing nothing, warm and cozy, when he risks his life out there for our sake!”

“For _your_ sake, you wanted to say,” Raven muttered under her nose wryly but hid deeper into ashes and said no more after getting one of Charles’s furious glances.

He had no time for arguing, turning the small kitchen upside down. He knew Snow’s puppets were after them, and it was a matter of time when they found them inside the castle through that door. He had to do something to get rid of the extra entrances.

“Don’t get in the way, Sean,” Charles grunted, focused on rummaging through the utensils. Where the hell did Erik put that scoop? “Just find yourself something to do, will you?”

The boy watched him with wide eyes but said nothing, just ran upstairs to fetch something from his room. Sebastian followed him with such a placid, candid face Charles doubted he was even listening. Probably, the drug in that cigar drove him further into his insanity.

He finally got what he was looking for, a scoop Erik used to take Raven out of her fireplace. It was stuck between the pans and the wall in a dusty, web-covered corner. Charles pulled it out realizing it was much bigger and much heavier than it looked in Erik’s hands.

“Raven, get in here,” he commanded, coming closer to her and stretched out the scoop for her to climb onto.

The demon viewed it sarcastically. Red edging of her flame was dark and depressed.

“Have you even seen the weather outside?” Raven said defensively, hiding behind her flames, resorting to her last argument. “It’s _raining_ , and I’m the demon of _fire._ What are the odds I survive?”

Charles grimaced. Despite how much he didn’t want to admit it, she had a point. Besides, if someone happened to the demon, Erik would probably kill him when he returned. That is, _if_ he returned, Charles thought desperately trying to get rid of the dark impression the word left in him. That was the last drop. He’ll have to take the risk.

“Get in!” Charles snapped in exasperation, shoving the scoop into the ashes fiercely, more of hopeless anger than real irritation in his voice.

Raven surprisingly obeyed.

“I better be the last to go,” the demon said, finally calming down a little. Her eyes were gleaming steadily aureate, nervous sparkles running over her red edge.

She didn’t stop complaining grouchily while Charles was taking her to the door, repeating ‘the castle collapses, I can’t leave it, Erik’ll be furious’ like windup toy. They waited for Sean and Sebastian leave the castle before them, and Charles stepped over the threshold, holding the scoop by its long handle, backing away from the castle and pulling Raven after him.

Everything froze for a short moment before a wretched howl swept through the insides of the castle. The door collapsed into darkness in a black whirlpool. They staggered back from crumpling beams and walls, stairs sucked into swirling shadows. The castle crumbed and sank with thundering clutter as if Raven’s power was the only thing that ever kept it together. A long heavy flue pipe was the last to fall; everything settled, fine dust laid to the ground by rain.

Charles stared at the pile of stones, bricks and wood that have been their home a moment ago, astounded and sodden.

“Charles! Charles! It’s raining, you mind?”

He came to his senses to realize Raven was calling to him for some time. Turnip Hank leaned over them, protecting the demon from the drizzling rain but water was dripping down from his fur, as well.

Growing rumble came from behind; a huge airship covered the dark sky over their heads. _More for Erik to fight_ , Charles thought distantly registering gloom and misery spreading in the air of the wasteland.

“Look for a way to get inside,” Charles said dryly. He knew what the lot must be thinking of him first destroying the castle and then trying to get inside it again, but he didn’t care. The fastest way to get to Erik was by the castle despite how it looked like.

There was a way in, nothing more than a hole in a wall just enough for all of them to squeeze through it. Charles went in first, lighting the space with Raven on her scoop. The ceiling was leaking, leaving the smell of moisture mixed with dust lingering in the air. Floor was covered in flinders, fragments of stone and brick, and broken glass but the fireplace at the far wall was whole and unharmed just as he assumed. He put the wailing demon down on the stone still warm from her presence a minute ago and brought her some wood. The remains of the broken staircase that used to lead to the upper floors of the castle came in handy.

He tossed several planks at the demon, ignoring her muffled indignant squeak. Raven, always hungry and now exhausted from their little trip, bit into the firewood violently.

“It’s damp,” she whined, munching through the planks. “And no chimney!”

Charles helped Sebastian through the narrow hole and together they pulled in Turnip Hank who was hopping outside, clearly asking to let him in. Charles noted incidentally some strange, human-like feeling coming from him but it was not the time to deal with whatever he was or was not.

“Raven, take me to Erik,” he stood before her, arms crossed on his chest, trying to predict what will it take for her to agree.

The demon didn’t start arguing but mused instead for some time.

“I lack power. Can’t do it on my own,” she said thoughtfully and casted him a glance. “I will need something from you. Your heart, or legs–”

“Legs?” Charles pictured himself never able to walk again, sitting forever in the same chair, needing someone else’s help to get dressed, take a bath, cook, go to bed – everything. He shuddered and waved a hand at the thought as if it could glue to him. “How about this?”

He grabbed a fractured knife without a handle conveniently lying nearby on the messy floor, and, in a single smooth motion, cut off his pony-tail that has grown surprisingly long for the last couple of weeks. The curls fell on his forehead at once; he brushed them off impatiently.

His hair was chestnut brown, not a single silver filament in it; Raven’s golden eyes gleamed. She munched deliciously on proposed hair, chawing and champing, and pulled her trick with turning dark-purple, shrinking in size before shooting into the air. This time, she was huge and scary; Charles had to admit he had never seen her like that before, and she was petrifying, her arms rested against the beams of the low ceiling, pushing on them to raise higher.

She groaned with obvious effort; Charles could hear excessive details falling off the castle, rooms, balconies, roofs crumbling into useless trash. Part of the floor collapsed, and the mess littering the small room fell through it, leaving a lesser patch of wooden floor untouched.

But the castle shifted. Its legs started moving, slowly at first, gaining brisk pace rapidly; Charles perched on his knees near the hole to watch the ground running swiftly underneath. Something swirling and turning rumbled, making it deafeningly loud, yet Charles’ heart was aflutter.

“Raven, you’re great!” he shouted to cover the noise, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “It’s amazing!”

The demon panicked in response.

“Something’s wrong,” she groaned, her golden eyes gleaming nervously. “I can’t hold it steady, the castle’s breaking down.”

The floor shuddered and several more beams fell into the hole. The wind swept through it, ripping at Charles’s clothes, wet chills running over his skin.

Sebastian grabbed him by the shoulder.

“You have to stabilize her,” he yelled over the bleak howling of the wind and crashing of falling parts of the castle. “You’ve made the castle, you can do it. Think of nothing else, concentrate!”

Charles shut his eyes having no idea what Sebastian’s ‘stabilize her’ means and squeezed his temples in a desperate attempt to focus. It helped somehow; the castle stopped trembling viciously, calming down to a steady vibration. Sebastian clapped him on the back.

“Good job! You’re getting better, I believe Madame Snow has a worthy opponent coming!”

He grinned brightly with a shadow of usual mock back on his face, but Charles was able to give only a pale smile in return, feeling drained. He leaned back onto Raven’s fireplace, warmth soaking through his wet clothes from it.

“Erik, it’s Erik!” Sean, who was squatting on the edge of the castle’s hole, waved him a hand. “I can see him.”

Charles shooed him away, taking his place and bending lower to have a better look. There was a swarm of drifters wallowing in a dark dense cloud, and more of them flew to it lowering in wide circles. An invisible lightning struck right in the middle of the swarm, dispelling the drifters into dust, and for a moment the black martlet appeared, fangs and claws ripping through the air with livid roaring and glowing of flashy yellow eyes.

Charles gasped. Erik was surrounded by drifters, and they were thousands; there was no way he’d make it alive from that. He squeezed his eyes shut again, reaching out for the wizard’s mind. The strain was so hard it left him powerless, splayed on the floor, panting for air.

“Can’t,” Charles gulped a breath. “He’s too far. We need to come closer so I can reach him–”

“Charles, careful!”

Sean’s warning cry came in too late; the castle jumped and rocked, stumbling over boulders. Charles felt his body weightless in a sweeping feeling, knees and elbows losing touch with the wooden floor. Half of Charles’s room tilted and reared up, and the rest of it was suddenly much further, Sean, Sebastian and Raven shrinking rapidly, a mute scream frozen on their faces before a stinging pain immersed everything into darkness.

 

The pebbles rolled down the steep walls of the ravine with light whispering. Charles opened his eyes to find everything around him painted in darkness, parts of the castle lying in odd shapes, heaps of them everywhere he could see.

The rain stopped, giving way to the bleak light of stars. The wind was barely audible down here; Charles shifted and straightened his spine carefully, throwing off the debris that covered his back and shoulders. All body ached mercilessly after falling down the ravine. It was a miracle he stayed alive, getting away with scratches and bruises.

Charles felt a first hot spasm squeezing his throat, his eyes dewed with tears, soft sob shaking through his body. He was tired and powerless and empty, kneeling in the middle of nowhere, and the castle was crumbling to bits so far Charles couldn’t reach anyone in it, and Erik was fighting thousands of enemies and probably dying right now.

He gritted his teeth, swallowing the tears, and tried calling them all again in turn – Erik, Sean, Sebastian, Raven. It was the demon’s name that called something to life, a weird glow coming from his hand. Charles leapt to his feet, calling out for Raven again and again.

Erik’s ring the wizard gave him when Charles was going to the Emperor’s palace and didn’t take back afterwards; the small short ray bubbled above it, jetting all directions indecisively. The narrow band of metal quivered on his finger, squeezing it tightly.

The ray flashed and darted forward, resting upon the pile of trash left from the castle. Charles followed it, entranced, and started digging through the logjam, throwing away parts of walls and a fragment of metal roof.

He was standing before the castle’s door, panting. The knob was turned black mark up, the mark that never allowed anyone of them open the exit to somewhere that was only Erik’s. Now, the door was slightly opened, inviting Charles to step inside.

He pulled the door, opening it wider, staring into immense blackness behind it that breathed and stirred in restless swarming upon the wooden frame. The ray of light showed the way inside but dissipated as soon as it reached over the threshold. Charles raised his hand and dipped it into darkness. It was swallowed by shadows at once as if it was dark water he plunged in. The feeling was normal though, only maybe a bit cooler on the skin of his hand. He pursed his lips before making a step inside, walking carefully into complete blackness.

The gloom lightened after several hundred steps, parting to reveal blurred bluish shadows. It was a small room with a chimney, a wooden table on crossed rounded legs with a chair, a simple bench and a single bed in it. A gun and a hunting horn were hanging on the wall, making the small room definitely a lodge. The table was scattered with papers and books, apparently serving as both a desk and a dining table.

Charles stopped beside it. An empty mug left circles on the table surface covered in ink blots. Papers were written in neat writing, with schemes and diagrams drawn on them. There was something elusively familiar in them, semicircles with signs that looked like an entangled web. A window casted bleak moonlight inside, cutting through the warm darkness of the room in rays. Charles peeked out of it but the glass was dirty and allowed to make out almost nothing on the outside.

The door’s hinges were well-oiled; it opened without a creak. Charles stepped on a neat porch.

Sky was shooting stars. The cold sparkles poured unhurriedly down over the lake, blue trails behind them, and shone, crashing into the horizon. It was only in a moment that Charles realized he knew where he was: Erik’s secret garden, his hideaway, and the lodge was his mother’s house. Only there were less flowers now, small lakes interleaved with patches of lush green grass, silvery in the light of a starfall.

The ring on his finger started quivering again, squeezing so tight it was painful. Charles winced and looked down; the metal was melting and disappearing, glowing lightly.

Another star flew low above Charles’s head and fell very near, before the mountains rising their peaks outside the highland. In its light, there was a small thin silhouette, a boy with dark hair walking slowly over the green meadow. Charles stared, feeling the familiar waft from the boy.

The circle of light from the dying star grew, casting soft glares of yellows, blues and reds on the edges. Stars appeared from behind the house; the boy turned around, bleak light falling onto his face, spellbound, waiting, so dear.

“Erik,” Charles called quietly.

He was barely fourteen, very young but definitely Erik.

Charles jumped off the porch and ran in the high grass toward the boy. The earth was wet along the shore of the lake, sucking as a swamp; Charles could feel thick mud sticking to his boots. Stars raced with him over the water surface, shining streaks of light turning into sparkling heads with bleak bodies. It made sense now, Charles thought fleetingly, the roundelay of stars Snow trapped Erik with; she knew about this memory of his, too.

The star fell near him and ran with its weak legs until the sparkle touched the grass and exploded. Again and again; the starfall became heavier, stars crashing over the grass and water. Charles stopped dead, panting, staring at the water, where a fading shape of one of them drowned, tiny but so very much like a human’s.

Another star fell, and Charles traced it with his eyes: young Erik opened his hands to catch it, and it landed right into his palms, exploding, covering the boy in the cloud of bright warm sparkles.

Erik smiled faintly, talking to it calm and lenient; Charles saw his lips moving but heard not a sound, mesmerized by the picture before his eyes, senseless to the squeezing pain and quivering of the melting ring on his finger. The sparkle paled a bit, and the boy’s smile softened. He brought it closer to his face, drinking the star from his palms.

The shining died out; for a moment, everything stilled. Charles gazed in awe until the boy clenched into his chest, doubling with pain. A warm glow came from between his fingers, a familiar blue-and-red settling cozily in Erik’s hands. Charles heard the soft warm beating of Erik’s heart coming from Raven when the ring finally vanished from his finger with a strum, and the earth was gone from under his feet, sucking him inside the forming black hole.

“Erik!” he called before he could stop himself. “Erik! Raven! It’s Charles! Wait for me, I’ll be there, I’ll come back for you!”

He still managed to see the boy looking at him with disbelieving eyes, followed by golden gleaming of the demon of fire. Their shapes were already blurred, and Charles felt himself tugged somewhere down when the hole above his head imploded, cutting him into the blackness again.

The gloom lightened; he was falling among the clouds but it didn’t feel like falling at all. There was something big and blue beneath him, a sea probably, with a small island on it; a bright sunny day was turning into dusk swiftly. The sun tossed its reddening beams into his back when Charles found his footing, walking on air just like Erik taught him, pushing off it, scorching tears choking him. He walked over the burning towns that replaced the peaceful sea, and tears floated around him, round and hot.

The light rectangle appeared up ahead. He stepped over the threshold of the door into the ravine covered in the castle’s parts and debris, and the blackness melted behind his back. Charles paid no attention.

Iron martlet was waiting for him outside, heavy, dark and macabre. His metal feathers rustled lightly, covering him all in a cocoon that breathed heavily, blood dripping along the quills. Charles walked over to him, stepping under the feathering. He was transformed beyond recognition, long neck, absent expression on his face, blank stare of his gray eyes turned inward. He didn’t even look like a human being but smelled of burned steel more than ever.

“Erik.”

Charles closed his eyes and leaned to him, bumping their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, Erik. It’s going to be fine now,” he promised, a small smile on his lips. “You came for me, you’re alive. And I know what to do,” he brushed their lips lightly; Erik’s were cold and still, not a muscle moved in his face. “Take me to Raven, okay?”

He wasn’t sure Erik would understand, and he augmented his words with mental image. Iron martlet shivered full-body and opened its huge black wings; Charles grabbed him by the neck the very moment Erik pushed off the ground.

The castle’s path along the mountain ridge was littered with parts and smithereens falling off; there was almost nothing left from the castle. A single platform with some weird winding mechanism still swirling back and forth, Raven languishing and feeble among the ashes and poor firewood left; Sean and Sebastian were sitting tiredly in the center, back-to-back. The boy muttered something, his head hidden between his knees; Sebastian puffed his inevitable pipe. Only Turnip Hank was standing on the edge, the misplaced grin drawn on his face.

The martlet swished its huge wings, catching up with the castle easily, and landed on the platform. Charles stepped aside, and iron martlet fell down heavily, shaking the platform, metal feathers whirling away from him, dissipating into the feed of black smoke. Charles kneeled beside him, rolled him on his back and removed a strand of dark hair from his forehead. Erik’s face was still and placid, a deep troubled crease on his forehead gone, giving him back his true years.

“Is he dead?”

Sean and Sebastian were standing behind his back. Charles shook his head as he raised from his knees.

“He’s alive,” he said with serenity he didn’t feel. The demon of fire looked just as awful, weak and pale. “Raven, I need you to give Erik his heart back.”

The demon shifted and looked at him with faded golden eyes.

“That’ll kill me, probably,” she sighed, casting a glance over his shoulder at the unconscious wizard. “Oh well, I’m already so worn out–”

Charles nodded solemnly and reached for her. She was heavy bearing Erik’s heart and burned like real fire; the pain swept through his skin, leaving black burns but not wounds. Charles hesitated for a moment before letting her go into his chest, intoxicated by the fluttery and warm beating of Erik’s heart.

Raven plunged through Erik’s chest in bluish sparkling; for a whole moment, there was nothing, and then a heavy low beat shook Erik’s body. Red-and-blue shone through Charles’s fingers still perched on Erik’s chest, and Raven popped out, scattering the splashes of light.

“I’m alive!” she squeaked in a voice much higher that her usual. “I’m free!”

The star sprang up off the platform and whizzed around it several turns of a spiral, blue trail following her. The moment she flew higher, the remains of the castle trembled; Charles felt his smile sliding down his face as the platform tipped and skimmed down the steep hillside at the breakneck speed.

It was Turnip Hank who reacted first. The scarecrow jumped over their heads and stuck his stick in the ground to brake the rushing platform. The wood cracked, flinders scattering in all directions but the platform slowed down gradually and finally stopped on the relatively flat slope. The scarecrow shuddered shortly, standing on what was left from the stick, and fell onto the platform limply.

“Turnip Hank!” Charles called, grabbing him by the blue fur coat, shaking. “Hank, are you alive?”

Turnip Hank twitched and sprang from Charles’s grip, making him startle back. The scarecrow froze in midair for a short moment, then doubled, growing legs, straightening up with a bright smile on his face.

The small company stared at him, different degrees of awe written over their faces.

“The hell,” Sean forced.

“Thank you, Charles,” the man said, bowing deeply. He actually was wearing a blue fur coat, Charles thought in disbelief. “I was under a spell that could be taken off only by me called by my real name and recognized as a living being.”

Sebastian chuckled.

“You were able to make out his real name from his thoughts, Charles,” he flashed a grin and turned to the scarecrow. “But who’re you? I know your face from somewhere.”

The man bowed again, smile growing wider on his lips, crinkling the edges of his eyes.

“I’m the prince from the next kingdom, actually,” he said, and everyone stared at him with renewed vigor. “I was put under a spell for the war to start, and look, they succeeded. But that I will put an end to, now–”

A pained groan came from behind their backs.

“What a racket. Stop yelling, you lot.”

Charles darted his eyes back; Erik was perched on his elbows, glancing at them with a dimmed gaze. Relief swept through Charles, making his knees weak at once, the world ceasing to exist outside the two of them.

Erik pushed off to sit higher and winced in pain, clenching into his chest.

“Ugh– It’s heavy, and it hurts like hell. What is it?”

“Your heart,” Charles couldn’t contain a fond smile, weariness dizzying him and finally settling deep along his spine. “It’s like this.”

Erik watched him in daze, a small private smile starting to form on his lips.

“I like your hair better this way,” he whispered, leaning closer and running a hand through Charles’s hair. His breath was hot on Charles’s neck, turning him uncomfortably red.

The small warm smile on Erik’s lips was the last drop Charles could bare, emotions spilling over the edge and flooding him in a tide. He circled a hand around Erik’s neck, drawing him into a kiss without any more hesitation, unable to keep the small hysterical laugh escaping his mouth, searing bubbles bursting in his stomach. A split second of Erik’s surprise, and he kissed back, pressing Charles close to his chest, crushing their mouths together.

“Well, finally, you two,” the commentary came from the outside world, and Charles recoiled, conscious of them not being alone on the platform all of a sudden.

Everyone was watching them, confusion and approval in their eyes. Among them, Raven flickered happily, turning red to blue and backwards, glistening golden eyes gaping at them contentedly.

“Erm– I thought you were gone,” Charles said to break the silence.

“I was,” the demon answered and smiled, flames flicking predatorily in her mouth. “But I couldn’t leave you two lovebirds before knowing you’ll be fine. Besides, it’s kinda fun around you.”

Erik laughed, low and quiet, his chest pressed warmly to Charles’s back, and Charles grinned, feeling Erik squeeze his hand gently, the waves of tender affection easy to read in his mind.


	11. The Castle Above the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and everyone lived happily ever after, right after Charles and Erik were finally left alone

“This is gorgeous!” Charles exclaimed in awe, spreading his arms wide in an attempt to hug the blueness lying before him.

Erik made a small satisfied noise. He was standing beside Charles on the narrow deck of one of the two patios added to the castle in the light of it gaining the ability to fly. They were fenced by a thin railing from the blue-and-white void below.

Since Erik got his heart back, they weren’t able to talk much, busy with rebuilding the castle and taking things back to normal. Today, they finally tried out the wings Erik and Raven agreed upon; Charles liked the idea greatly, and both the wizard and the demon decided readily upon a new contract with less limitations to Raven’s movement around and outside the house. She was still perched on her fireplace though, the perennial habit gaining its end.

Charles was busy, too: not hoping much, he still sent Snow a mental image of Prince Hank back to his self, packing up to go home, and received a responding prod from the sorceress, disappointed but reconciling. It felt like an elbow to the ribs, actually, Charles thought. In a day, the air raids over the towns stopped and the massive airships turned around. They swished their heavy wings over the greenery of the land above them now; it was a beautiful picture through the gaps in the clouds.

“We should tell Raven she’s great,” Charles said, admiring the view. The clouds were blindingly white, and enormous skies opening before him felt like he could fall into them.

Still, there was an unsettling thought on the edge of his consciousness that made him twitchy all over. He felt a small tension spreading down his back where he knew Erik’s eyes were glued to him, tracing up and down his spine unhurriedly. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant at all, little shivers of anticipation shaking through him.

“We should,” Erik echoed, his voice calm and a lot closer than it was a moment ago.

Despite the lack of time, they had their small private moments these past few days, and the glances that drove Charles positively crazy. The maddening expectation grew under his skin, and Erik’s proximity was increasingly unnerving.

Charles pursed his lips and turned around just in time to see hungry expression flashing through Erik’s face. His eyes were radiating something sweet, and hot, and tight–

He made a tiny step forward, covering the space still left between them, and Charles’s thoughts switched. There was no talented wizard in front of him; instead, there was just a man, that simple and complicated. There were Erik’s bright gray eyes with warm fond feeling to them, Erik’s carved cheekbones, Erik’s lips.

“Charles,” they whispered, and his eyes darted upwards. He blushed, abruptly conscience of himself staring at Erik’s lips for a whole minute now.

Not like Erik minded. His lips slowly stretched in a wry grin.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked, warm hand sliding under Charles’s shirt. His other hand cupped Charles’s cheek, stroking a thumb over his skin, sending involuntary shivers down his spine. “There was something I’ve been meaning to do for some time now. Actually, I have to admit I have predatory intentions on you.”

He was so close Charles’s head started spinning.

“Really?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Mmm,” Erik murmured, caressing his cheek. “Your skin is so smooth. So soft.”

He lowered his head, burying his nose in Charles’s hair. His lips brushed over the skin on Charles’s cheek weightlessly, and he shivered again, uncontrollably.

Erik waited no longer. He leaned in, capturing Charles’s lips with his mouth, and Charles’s breath hitched. It seemed so right that he melted, sighing softly, letting Erik slide his tongue into his mouth, savoring him carefully and thoughtfully, remembering the taste.

It felt like– Charles didn’t manage to decide how it felt like. They broke for air shortly, and Erik leaned for another kiss, pressing Charles closer, claiming and possessive, no more playful teasing. He pinned Charles to the thin railing, having him hanging over it; Charles didn’t care, finally lost in Erik’s hot and wet mouth completely, not giving a damn about anything going on outside the two of them.

Erik dropped his hands to prop Charles up easily by his hips, and Charles embraced him by the implausibly trim waist with both legs. They kissed, hot pressure delightful and welcome, hungry for each other, tension escalating between them for too long to keep away now. Erik’s obscene mouth, strong lips, able tongue were doing something funny to Charles’s body, turning his thoughts completely incoherent.

Charles whimpered at the absence of Erik’s lips against his when they broke off. He was breathing fast and heavy, ribcage feeling tight for his racing heart.

“Let’s go,” Erik whispered into his ear hotly, leaving a small kiss on his temple, and then retreated, letting cool wind ruffle through Charles’s hair.

Charles climbed down the railing Erik had him seated on and stamped from one foot to the other uncomfortably, trembling from both the coolness of the air and the heat coiling in his stomach. Erik waited for him at the door leading inside the castle. They walked the corridors side-by-side in silence, avoiding touching each other. Charles casted sidelong glances at Erik, the air strained between them, a single flash of pictures flooding Erik’s mind making Charles blush crimson. He knew where they headed but it never occurred to him it took so long to walk to Erik’s room down all these corridors.

Erik stopped abruptly and turned to face him, glaring with a new, starving sparkle in his eyes.

“Stop that,” he asked in a hoarse voice, rumble low and perfect at the back of his throat.

Charles stared back, dazed, and Erik sighed, stepping closer, pushing him in the chest lightly until Charles’s back rested against the wall.

“Your thoughts are too loud,” he whispered and leaned in, touching Charles’s lips gently and almost chastely, just enough for them both to keep their cool.

His body was all heavy, solid heat, pressing Charles flush to the wall. Erik growled, a careful thought sneaking through both their minds, predatory and almost scary in its desperate desire to either consume Charles whole or tear him apart that very instant. It made Charles’s hair stand on end and sizzling heat coil in his stomach, but Erik staggered back, breathless, holding him back by the shoulders, face contorted in a painful effort of self-control. Charles had a hard time shaking the allure off him, head clearing slowly.

They stumbled into Erik’s room. Charles glanced around it feverishly; furnished anew, relieved of the ridiculous quantity of charms and amulets, it had a vast bed fit in it instead. Erik, slamming the door behind their backs, pressed to his back and clutched into his shoulders tightly, his breath hot on Charles’s cheek and fingers stumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

Charles turned around. He wanted to run a hand over Erik’s skin, over his refined collarbones, broad shoulders, strong arms, to enjoy the finely shaped muscles under a thin shirt. There was a frantic gleam to Erik’s eyes, pupils blown wide, emotions surging through. He captured Charles’s hands and smiled crookedly before pushing him over to the bed.

It was all a bit frightening, seeing Erik’s fingers quivering agitatedly. Charles lay down on the bed and tried to relax, letting Erik have the leading role, taking his clothes off, caressing and exploring every inch of his body. His hands, sliding down over naked skin were hot and confident, and there was nothing left but to ease into this touch. Erik’s lips, his tongue; everything melted on Charles’s skin. Moans were tearing away from his mouth, and it was an incredible effort of will necessary to swallow them down, allowing only small sighs pour from him.

Erik came back to claim another kiss before the soft pressure of his fingers turned into scorching, tight burning inside Charles. Feeling filled to the brim, he entangled his hands into Erik’s hair, tilting his head back, a sound of pained pleasure escaping Charles’s lips despite his best efforts.

It took him a moment to regain the ability to see though the dizzying mist before his eyes; he looked up, searching for Erik’s gaze and gasped, hot wave brushing through him. Erik looked completely wrecked, holding back until Charles got used to him inside. He moved first, urging Erik to follow, and saw a spasm twitching on his face shortly before Erik thrust forward, in a slow rhythm growing steadily faster.

He was short on air, drowning in the unfamiliar, agonizingly reveling sensations. He lost connection with reality, when a voice called in his head. _Charles_ , it whispered over and over, and he shuddered, finally able to make a shaky breath. A feeling of being lost and found in the chaos of raw emotion pushed him over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut, the world shrinking to a tiny flash behind his eyelids, Erik’s low groan barely audible through the deafening beating of his heart.

For some time, the only task Charles was capable to muster was catching his breath, which turned out to be quite a job. He finally stirred, the sense of his body coming back slowly, his hand cramped in a bad posture under both their weights. Erik shifted to the side lazily, nestling him in his arms. Charles lost track of time again, soaring in the warmth and coziness of his touch. The feeling that nothing else mattered but this moment was overwhelming, drawing Charles into soft slumber.

Erik pulled him from his reverie, pressing a small kiss to his temple.

“I waited for you,” he whispered into the air. Charles mused unfocusedly whether Erik meant for him to hear it or not.

“It was you, I saw you that night during starfall when I caught Raven. I knew I’d meet you at some point of time,” Erik chuckled softly, pressing another kiss to Charles’s palm before interlacing their fingers. “When I saw you in that alley blushing adorably before two idiots in uniforms–”

Charles raised his head to glare at Erik indignantly, pushing him in the shoulder.

“I wasn’t blushing!” he snapped grumpily.

“And you had this loveable provincial accent of yours,” Erik added, grinning, downright entertained to see embarrassment spreading over Charles’s face.

“Well, I’m sorry, Your Majesty!” Charles laughed, tilting his head with a wry smile glued to his lips. “My looks, my accent. What else you don’t like about me?”

Erik shook his head, tone growing unexpectedly serious. He leaned closer, coming to rest his forehead over Charles’s.

“You are smart, and funny, and kind, and so beautiful,” he said quietly, not a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You are perfect, Charles.”

Charles startled and dropped his head, nuzzling under Erik’s chin to hide a blush heating his face and his ears.

“Who knew you’ll be so chatty,” he scowled, nipping at Erik’s collarbone lightly.

He felt Erik smiling, waves of amused fondness radiating from him, and stealthily smiled in response.

 

Despite his usual sharpness, Erik turned out to be gentle beyond belief. It was even more frustrating that he still believed next thing best to do was criticize Charles’s clothes.

“You have to be kidding me,” Charles squealed indignantly, dodging Erik’s hands that tried to pull the vest off him.

They were at the upper patio since Sean and Sebastian seemed to forever occupy a bigger one, where it was less windy and much warmer. Still that gave them the privilege of privacy, which Charles wasn’t completely fond of right now.

“I don’t like what you wear. I bought you a new suit, isn’t it great?”

Charles stared at it in horror. The cut was okay but!

“It’s yellow, Erik. _Yellow_!”

The suit lying on a chair in the center of the patio was accompanied by a white hat with wide brim. Charles refused to wear it point-blank, and that resulted in their current race along the patio.

“Gotcha,” Erik panted, cornering Charles at that same narrow deck as before and getting his back pressed into the railing.

“Why do you want me to wear something so bright?” Charles asked desperately.

“Because you’re dazzling,” Erik said, a little frown on his forehead as if he was surprised Charles didn’t know it himself.

Charles froze, silent, at a loss for words, watching Erik coming closer. He leaned closer, firmly setting both hands on the railing, and touched Charles’s lips carefully before running a hand under his vest, pulling it up and over Charles’s head. He didn’t release his hands though, shackling them in the warm fabric. He was skidding a warm palm across Charles’s chest, sending shivers from his touch, when Charles gave up and relaxed. He shuddered both from the cool wind entangled in his hair and Erik’s fingers, scorching even through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Admit it, you just want to strip me,” he said, shortly upset at his easy surrender, and stared at Erik in shock these words actually escaped his lips.

Erik raised his eyebrows, sharp toothy grin on his lips turning wicked. He ducked under Charles’s arm, and next thing Charles knew, he was carried over the shoulder, feet dangling in the air, all his resistance straightforwardly ignored.

“Do what you want, I’m still not wearing that hideous yellow outfit,” Charles snapped trying to sound stern. That was not easy while he was still entangled in his own vest.

Erik laughed quietly and shook him up on his shoulder, boyish grin clearly audible in his voice.

“Well if this isn’t love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading (and hopefully enjoying) this fic, and special thanks for kudos and comments. I hope I didn't spoil the fandoms too much for all of you, Cherik and Miyazaki lovers.


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